


Touch

by artemis2apolla



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, BDSM, Bonding, Dubious Consent, First Meetings, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 44,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24284374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemis2apolla/pseuds/artemis2apolla
Summary: When Asami and Akihito Imprint on each other, neither one notices. Asami is busy trying not to die from a bullet wound to the stomach. Akihito is busy trying to save a stranger he finds bleeding out in an alley.Ten years later and their bond inextricably draws them together again.
Relationships: Asami Ryuichi/Takaba Akihito, Mikhail Arbatov/Liu Fei Long
Comments: 95
Kudos: 616





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Imprimatur](https://archiveofourown.org/works/257805) by [Closer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Closer/pseuds/Closer). 



> This fic is a soulmate AU, mostly diverging from Asami and Akihito's initial meeting in the first chapter of the manga. 
> 
> The soulmate/bonding mechanisms are inspired by the world building of [Imprimatur](https://archiveofourown.org/works/257805/chapters/402434) by [Closer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Closer/pseuds/Closer) and [Life Sentence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3956503) by [astolat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/pseuds/astolat).
> 
> Please read the tags and the warnings at the end of each chapter if necessary, as this fic does contain canon-level violence and non-consensual sex scenes.

Neither of them noticed the Imprint when it happened. 

In Asami’s defense, he’d always considered Imprinting a load of horseshit - at best a myth for pedalling romantic movies and scamming people into paying for Imprint matching services and at worst a dangerous liability to be avoided at all costs. It also didn’t help that at the time he was bleeding out in a dirty, damp alley with no phone or backup to speak of. Asami had no delusions of living to old age in his line of work but at 25 he felt too young to die, especially from a chance bullet to the stomach by some low-level goons. 

In Akihito’s defense, he always thought Imprinting would be an Event, with a capital “E”. His parents raised him on stories of their own Imprint. A quick handshake at an event his dad photographed and his mom was in attendance at was all it took. In his parents’ version, the instant their skin touched their senses sharpened, colors became more vibrant, and it felt like a light from the heavens shined down on them. They spent the rest of the night side by side, no doubt in their minds. Within a week they were married and moved in together. In the same year, Akihito was born. 

Instead of the unmistakable recognition of angels singing and the sky opening up, Akihito got a brief frisson of tension, like an electric shock, which he attributed to the fact that he had his hands covered in an unresponsive stranger’s blood and was appropriately freaking the fuck out. Just his luck that getting lost on an overnight class trip to Tokyo would end up with him watching someone die in a back alley behind a ramen joint. 

“Excuse me sir? Sir? We have to get you to a hospital!” 

Asami opened his eyes - he was only resting them for a moment - to see a kid no older than 15. The kid desperately looked at him while trying to staunch the blood flow from his wound with a well worn hoodie. His eyes were kind, bright, and somehow entrancing, framed by shaggy dark hair and smooth, pale skin. Maybe the blood loss was making him delirious. Something in the back of Asami’s mind was trying to tell him something, something that felt important, but it was being drowned out by the shock. The adrenaline that had propelled him away from his shooters was starting to give way to real pain, and just the thought of moving from where he was splayed behind two dumpsters made him wince.

“No hospitals,” Asami rasped. 

“Are you crazy? We need to get you help, now!” Akihito cried. 

“Leave me here.” The last thing Asami needed was some do-good passerby getting shot when the thugs found him and tried to finish the job. His only hope was that one of his own men would manage to track him down first. 

“I’m not just going to let you die here,” Akihito insisted. He couldn’t stand by and do nothing, even if he found himself entirely out of his depth. As if the bullet wound wasn’t enough, the stranger’s aversion to hospitals was rapidly making him suspect that he had become inadvertently caught up in something less-than-legal. “Is there anyone I can call for you?”

Asami, near passed out already, used the last of his clarity to remember Kirishima’s cell number and hoped that the kid wouldn’t call the police instead. He then leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes again. It wouldn’t hurt to rest them for another moment. 

Akihito gently took the stranger’s hand, placing it against his own wound. He hoped the stranger could hold on for just a little longer. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

He cursed his parents’ reluctance to buy him a cell phone as he raced out into the street, scanning the sidewalk for the lime-green of a payphone. At the very least he could be grateful that it was late enough that few people were out to see him walking around covered in blood. Upon finding one, he fumbled in his pockets for a 10 yen coin and hurriedly punched the number in, impatiently waiting for the call to connect. The other side picked up on the first ring - a worried man’s voice saying, “Sir, where are you?”

“Listen I don’t know who you are but I found your buddy in real bad shape behind the ramen shop next to Ginza Station. He’s bleeding out from a stomach wound but won’t let me call an ambulance,” Akihito said. 

“I’ll be there shortly,” came the clipped response before the call abruptly ended. 

Akihito sprinted back to the alley where the mysterious dark haired man remained. The man’s eyes were still closed and for one heart-stopping moment Akihito feared he was already dead until he noticed the shallow up and down of his chest. Returning his hands to press down on the bullet wound, Akihito noted that what had once been a nice suit was now torn and bloody, the dark red contrasting against a once-pristine crisp white business shirt. In the dark of the alley he couldn’t make out all the details, but he could see that even battered and disheveled, the man looked like a model. Angular and handsome, Akihito puzzled over how the man had ended up caught in yakuza business or whatever shady dealings got him shot. 

The sun had already set and Akihito began wondering how much trouble he was going to be in for wandering off and losing the rest of his class. Or more importantly, how he would clean up before returning so he didn’t give his teacher a heart attack by showing up covered in blood. How he managed to get himself into such messes even he couldn’t understand. 

Akihito’s knees were going numb from crouching on the hard concrete by the time he heard the squeal of tires against pavement as a black car pulled in front of the entrance to the alleyway. His first instinct was to tense. Were these people bad news? The tall, bespectacled man that exited the vehicle looked more worried than malicious though so Akihito let out a sigh of relief. Having spotted Akihito, the man rushed over. 

“I’ll take him from here,” he said, pulling up the bloody man from the floor and replacing Akihito’s hand with his own to maintain pressure on the wound. The new stranger bundled the other man into the backseat of the car before looking briefly back at Akihito. 

“Thank you,” he said. And then the car pulled away, and they were gone.

* * *

  
  


Following his trip to Tokyo, Akihito became haunted by a persistent sense of restlessness. For a while he thought maybe it was trauma. The details of that night were hazy. He could hardly recall what the man in the alley even looked like, but he could vividly remember the terror he felt kneeling on the ground with blood on his hands. Anyone would be traumatized after almost witnessing someone die in front of them, right? But it felt like there was something more, like he was missing something that’d been hollowed out from inside him. The feeling burned through him like the worst type of ache. Every day it felt like his body was experiencing a never-ending fever that wouldn’t go away no matter what he did. 

It drove him to pull increasingly reckless stunts that ended with every teacher and administrator in school labelling him as a delinquent. He became uncomfortably good friends with the police at the local precinct. The restlessness, however, was also accompanied by unprecedented luck. For every dumb and dangerous antic he engaged in, something always managed to tilt in his favor before he ended up suspended, jailed, or seriously injured. 

Akihito’s best friends stood by him faithfully, but Kou and Takato exchanged worried glances in secret every time they pulled him out of another tight spot. His parents were distressed and perturbed, knowing that he had gone to Tokyo on what should have been a routine school trip and returned _different_. 

When his dad pushed a camera into his hands at age 16, Akihito knew it was only partially out of a desire for him to follow in his footsteps as a photographer. For the past two years his parents had enlisted him in an endless list of hobbies, hoping something would stick and keep him out of trouble with no success. 

Akihito’s dad probably soon regretted ever thinking a camera would keep him out of trouble rather than dragging him in, but using the camera did calm the teen. Looking through a viewfinder, Akihito felt more at peace than he ever did otherwise. The restlessness inside him was also ever so slightly mollified by the thrill of chasing a scoop. While his dad expected him to shoot some nature landscapes or maybe photos of his friends, Akihito caught a corrupt local business man paying out a prostitute with public funds on film within a week. Soon he was anonymously mailing the local paper rolls of film every other month and seeing his photos splashed on the front pages below breaking news headlines. 

And so he carried on for another two years. He exasperated his teachers and parents and any other authority figure he ran into. He skated by in his classes, just enough not to flunk out. He spent most nights or weekends chasing politicians and crime, camera in hand, always managing to land in just the right place and time to get the lucky shot before escaping unscathed. 

Then, suddenly, he was 18 and graduating from high school. The ceremony was overwhelmingly boring, but Akihito’s friends’ unabashed joy at finally being free from the tyranny of school was infectious. He spent the entire day buzzing, full of buoyant excitement. Over a massive celebratory spread of meat at their favorite Yakiniku restaurant, the three friends discussed their plans for the future. 

“Where do you think you’ll go, Aki? You’re not planning on staying around Kanagawa are you?” Kou asked. 

Akihito paused from eagerly shoveling grilled meat into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously before he spoke. “I think I’m going to move to Tokyo. There’s more than enough crime and action in the city for me to make a living as a freelance photographer.” 

“Your parents aren’t going to approve of you moving to the city on your own you know,” Takato chimed in. 

Akihito scrunched his nose in annoyance. Ever since he had gotten lost from his class on their trip to Tokyo and been reported as missing for hours before showing back up at their hotel in the middle of the night with bloody clothing and no explanation, his parents had disapproved of him even visiting the city. 

“They’ll get over it. I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel like Tokyo is where I need to be.” 

Just thinking about the city stirred something inside of Akihito. An explicable feeling, one he often felt at night after waking up from disorienting dreams filled with the same blurry face and hazel eyes. He didn’t know what the feelings or dreams meant, but he knew Tokyo held the answer. 

* * *

Asami survived. The same could not be said for the gang that had sent their men after him in an attempt to steal a valuable firearms shipment. After recovering - and with ample support from Kirishima, who still felt guilty that Asami’s life had been saved only by the altruism of a random schoolkid - Asami crushed the gang head and everyone else involved in the shootout. The rest of the group crumbled beneath his feet. 

Almost dying invigorated something inside of Asami. While he had already been on the path to conquering the Tokyo underground, getting shot seemed to fill him with ceaseless dissatisfaction and frustration that he channeled into mercilessly and systematically taking out his rivals. Despite the unsettled feeling thrumming through his body, his mind was sharper than ever. He coordinated more and more ambitious shipments and sales of illegal goods. Luck was always on his side. The authorities, always suspicious of his activities, had a tough time collecting any evidence whatsoever. What little the police could find they didn’t have a chance in hell of sticking on him. 

Nevermind conquering Tokyo, within a few years he quickly became the most powerful crime head in Japan. He surrounded himself with trusted men and expanded his empire, buying high-end clubs to build a reputable business chain alongside establishing new drug and weapons routes through Japan and Asia. He hired Suoh and earned his loyalty as a bodyguard, ensuring that he wouldn’t be left to bleed out in the street again without backup. 

Yet he still wasn’t satisfied. 

The crawling under his skin never stopped. He chain-smoked Dunhills, trying to calm his nerves through nicotine. Lung cancer was a small price to pay for a distraction from the feeling. He drank - top shelf whiskey, never enough to lose control - but alcohol never even came close to taking the edge off. His bedroom saw a revolving door of bed partners. Models, socialites, no one could fulfill his needs. Kirishima became well-acquainted with throwing beautiful women out of his apartment after another night of sex that left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

Asami didn’t know what he was looking for, but he was looking for it, constantly. Glancing out the windows of his town car, peering down at the street from the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, he was always looking for the ghost of a memory. 

Sometimes he thought about the boy who had saved him. He never got a name, too incoherent with blood loss to retain more than the impression of kind, soft eyes. At one point he tasked Kirishima with finding him, entertaining thoughts of rewarding him for saving his life, but Kirishima hadn’t caught his name either in the rush of trying to deliver Asami to his private physician. The call to Kirishima’s phone was traced back to a payphone across the street from Ginza Station. None of the Tokyo students Kirishima filtered during his search matched the profile of the boy he remembered from that night. Eventually Asami let it go. There was no place for kindness in his life anyway. 

* * *

It took ten years for them to meet again. In retrospect, Akihito thought it was a miracle that it took that long. As soon as he landed in Tokyo, he made ins with newspapers and developed contacts within the police. His fearlessness, determination, and extraordinary luck quickly turned him into the go to source for juicy photos. Especially for photos of the Tokyo underground. No one could come close to Akihito in catching gang deals and corrupt businessmen. Or no one else dared to put themselves in such dangerous situations to begin with. 

Freelancing didn’t pay the best money, but Akihito loved the freedom it afforded. His jobs paid enough to afford a modest apartment with an area he converted into a darkroom. He lived off of mostly junk food and ramen, but it never bothered him. With scrupulous saving and the occasional big pay-out, he focused his money on building an impressive collection of cameras and quality lenses. 

Moving to Tokyo didn’t completely erase the restlessness that had plagued Akihito through high school. He felt less inclined to lash out the way he did during his teenage years, but living in the big city put him on edge in a different way. He felt precariously balanced, like he was waiting for something big. Everyday walking through the streets felt like standing on the threshold of a subway platform as a train came rattling by, or hanging for dear life over the side of a skyscraper’s roof (a feeling he unfortunately knew from first-hand experience). 

When he got a tip-off about a National Diet member making questionable meetings with a club owner, he didn’t think twice about trying to get exclusive photos. His cameras wouldn’t pay for themselves. 

A day later and he regretted his propensity to jump without thinking when he found himself being manhandled against a wall by a bunch of suits. 

“Who the hell are you guys? What do you want?” Akihito demanded. 

“Takaba Akihito,” a deep voice interrupted behind him. 

Akihito shivered. It was never a good sign when guys like these knew his name. He struggled to turn around, arms still locked in the unyielding grip of two henchmen. Their leader made Akihito hold his breath. Dangerously handsome, smartly dressed, clearly packing a gun, Akihito suddenly feared he was in too deep on this one. The man’s cold eyes and aloof demeanor made him look like he was two seconds away from telling his men to kill Akihito and dump his body in the bay attached to cement blocks. 

“You’ve been snooping around Sion, sticking your nose into business where you don’t belong.”

Akihito was in deep shit, but he didn’t make it this far in his career by being a pushover. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you anything!”

One of the men restraining him kneed him in the stomach, making him gasp as the air was punched out of him. That was going to leave a bruise. 

“Bad things happen to naughty boys,” the leader continued. “In this world, if you’re going to go sticking your nose into other people’s business, you’ll have to take better care of yourself.”

What was this, a lecture or a shake-down? It was time for Akihito to make his escape before things progressed any further. 

Whip fast, he kicked out of the grip of one of the men, surprising the other, and bolted further down the hallway the men had cornered him in. It was a calculated risk - running the other way would lead to the parking garage where there were undoubtedly more men waiting. He pulled open a door and ran up a staircase until he found himself on the roof. The rapid sound of footsteps told him the men were close. 

“Nowhere to run now.”

They thought they had him. Akihito laughed. 

“I’ve been in worse situations than being chased by a bunch of old men,” Akihito said. 

With that he jumped over the railing of the roof, relishing in the sounds of astonishment from behind him. Never one to resist poking the bear, he petulantly stuck his tongue out at the men staring down at him as he clung to signage on the side of the building. Perhaps it was his imagination, but their leader looked almost amused. 

* * *

On paper, Takaba Akihito was intriguing, but only as far as a minor nuisance was concerned. Few people would dare target his nightclubs. Even the officers in the Drugs and Firearms Division, who long suspected his nightclubs as a front for his trafficking activities, rarely risked encroaching on his property. 

Asami went with his men to deal with Takaba personally, half-needing to discern how much the young photographer knew about Asami’s illegal dealings, and half-wanting to see what kind of punk would have the balls to investigate him in the first place. 

The kind of punk that jumped off rooftops, apparently. Asami still couldn’t decide if he was brave or dumb. Perhaps a combination of both. 

On paper Takaba was intriguing, but in person he was a firecracker in action. Seeing the photographer run across the roof and fly off made Asami’s heart leap in his chest even though he long thought he had lost the ability to be surprised. Asami wanted to see more. 

He speed dialed Kirishima. “Leak details to the cops of a large-scale drug deal tonight at the harbor warehouse. Make sure it gets to punk. He won’t be able to resist snooping. Make sure there are men stationed to grab him wherever he hides out.” 

Asami rested back into his seat with a smirk. He was ready to play with the photographer some more, like a koma on a go board. 

* * *

Akihito wasn’t aware he was unconscious until he wasn’t. He gasped awake, shaking drops of ice cold water from his face. He glared at the person who had so rudely woken him up (not to mention kidnapped him!).

“Asami!” 

The clatter of chains suddenly alerted Akihito to his position. He was completely naked, hands and legs bound, and covered in a bizarre arrangement of leather straps that accentuated his chest. Most alarming was the contraption of ties surrounding his cock. What kind of fucked up person had he gotten himself kidnapped by?

“I thought I’d grant you your wish,” Asami said. The crime lord casually blew cigarette smoke into Akihito’s face before yanking his legs up. The touch of Asami’s hand to Akihito’s skin felt like a brand. He tried to jerk away but he was bound too tightly to manage anything more than a twitch. 

“You look scared,” Asami continued. He pulled a vial out of his pocket and grabbed Akihito’s face, covering his mouth with one large palm. Akihito struggled in his grip. He was starting to really worry now. Clearly Asami wasn’t going to just kill him and be done with it. 

He held his breath as Asami flipped the cap of the vial open and hovered it before him, knowing it was filled with drugs. With his mouth covered, though, he could only last a minute before being forced to inhale through his nose. The sweet scent immediately ratched his heart rate up. He could feel blood coursing through him, making his face blush bright red and his cock harden. 

It felt like Asami’s hands were everywhere. One traced over his already over-sensitized nipples while the other grabbed his dick with a sure and steady hand. A deep voice whispered filthy things into his ear. 

“Little slut. I knew you would be gagging for it.”

Akihito tried to resist. He stammered out protests. “Stop...please...don’t touch it.”

Asami ignored him, teasing a finger over his sensitive slit. His other fingers circled the head of his cock, stirring him into a frenzy. It was too much for Akihito, and he braced himself to orgasm before Asami denied him that too by tightly gripping the base of his cock. 

Akihito groaned. “You bastard!”

“Now now,” Asami taunted. “That’s not very nice is it? Perhaps I should teach a brat like you some manners.” 

Asami began working his hand up and down Akihito’s cock again, fast and hard like there was a chance he would let Akihito come, but Akihito knew there would be a catch. Just before he felt like he might lose it again, Asami removed his hand completely and tied a tight band around his cock, preventing his release. 

Akihito was crying real tears now, fully unable to prevent the moans and pitiful sounds coming from his mouth. The drugs in his system were overriding any sense of embarrassment in favor of chasing possible paths to pleasure. 

“Crying already?” Asami asked. “Don’t worry, I’ll be real good to you now.”

Akihito could only gasp for air as Asami deftly maneuvered the assortment of straps and ropes tying him until Akihito’s arms were bound behind his back and his thighs were strapped together. 

Asami’s fingers were slick as they nudged his hole, slipping in and tormenting a place Akihito had never dared explore on his own. 

Asami’s voice was full of promise as he continued to fill the air between them with dirty phrases. “You’re too cute. I can’t help but want to torment you. Before tonight ends, I’ll have all of you.”

The fingers disappeared and Akihito was left feeling oddly bereft until Asami reappeared with an intimidating ridged dildo. Akihito shook his head furiously, ready to shout his lungs out before Asami also surprised him with a thick bit gag that cut off any protests after being tied securely around the back of his head. 

Akihito could only groan and make out muffled opposition as Asami began working the toy into his ass. By now his entire body felt wet. His cock, still painfully hard, dripped precum while his thighs were covered in sweat and lube. Within a few minutes, the thick head of the dildo was pressing into a sensitive spot within Akihito. He couldn’t stop squirming, trying to escape the tormenting pleasure the toy brought every time Asami rammed it further inside him. 

Finally, Asami lodged it deep within him before releasing his grip. Akihito barely had a second to feel relief before he realized it wasn’t a dildo after all. It was a vibrator, and Asami had just flipped the toy on. The buzzing against his prostate put him on the edge of pain and pleasure and his body couldn’t figure out how to react, like a metronome ticking back and forth between the two. His nerves were reactivated every time Asami got bored of watching him struggle and deigned to work a few quick thrusts of the toy into him. 

Akihito couldn’t have formed words even if he tried by the time Asami removed the gag from his mouth. He let out a hoarse groan as Asami carelessly ripped the vibe out of him and tossed it aside. Tears continued to stream down his face, in contrast to Asami’s cold and dispassionate eyes. 

Asami gripped his chin, forcing Akihito’s face up when he tried to hide his tears in his shoulder. 

“Damn you,” Akihito choked out. 

“Hm. You really are adorable,” Asami said, seemingly impressed that Akihito still had fighting spirit left in him. “Let’s have some fun now, shall we?”

Asami gripped the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss. Akihito gasped, not expecting such an intimate gesture during what amounted to a session of creative torture. Akihito’s entire body had felt like it was on fire for hours, but the kiss made him feel hot all over again, like an electrical burn running through his system. He couldn’t get enough air, and almost hoped he could just pass out so that this would be done with. 

Akihito moaned as Asami broke away, spit elongating and breaking between their mouths. Asami’s fingers went to work untying the cord around Akihito’s cock, pulling it undone with a flourish. Akihito didn’t have time to wonder whether this meant Asami was finally going to let him come before he was being pulled into Asami’s lap. The bastard hadn’t even undressed through all of this, still in his perfectly ironed shirt and slacks. The material of his pants, silky smooth and no doubt obscenely expensive, felt like sandpaper on Akihito’s aching skin. 

“Brace yourself,” was all the warning Akihito received before the monstrous length of Asami’s cock was being pushed into him. Asami’s thick fingers and the ridged vibrator had done nothing to prepare him. Akihito could only be grateful that at some point Asami had granted him the mercy of slicking himself up so that he didn’t tear Akihito bloody as he thrust in and out, going deeper one inch at a time. 

“It hurts! Please, take it out!” Akihito begged, knowing it would do him no good. 

In response, Asami roughly pushed two lube-covered fingers into Akihito’s mouth. Akihito choked as they pushed down on his tongue, circling inside his mouth and forcing him to engage in a mimicry of a blowjob. Filled on both ends, Akihito could feel Asami chipping away at his being. 

Suddenly done with playing nice, Asami threw Akihito off his lap and onto the table. Powerless to stop him, Akihito landed full force and groaned as his chest hit the surface. Asami released one of Akihito’s arms while gripping the other, allowing Akihito to brace himself as Asami used the leverage of his new position to jackhammer deeper and deeper inside him. It was like being fucked by a powerful machine, each thrust punching another mortifying sound out of Akihito. 

“Asami! Please!”

“Akihito,” Asami groaned. 

Akihito moaned as Asami said his name, one of Asami’s hands going around to grip Akihito’s neglected cock. 

“Don’t forget this. The pain I give you, and the pleasure.”

From anyone else, it might have sounded like a line from a bad porno. From Asami, it sounded like a threat and a promise. 

Akihito was losing himself. The pounding never stopped, but neither did the hand on his aching cock. 

“Come for me, Akihito.”

It was like his body had been waiting for Asami’s permission. Akihito’s orgasm shook him, racking through his body in waves as Asami never slowed the pace behind him. Truly gone, Akihito babbled nonsense until he heard Asami grunt and still deep inside him, filling him with come. 

* * *

Asami couldn’t resist arranging a chance encounter with Akihito every so often. He had hoped fucking Akihito senseless for three days would get all the desire for the boy out of his system, but it only seemed to fan the flames. Even after Asami graciously allowed Akihito to make his escape, he posted a guard to follow him at all times and provide Asami with detailed reports of his going ons. 

Kirishima thought he was going crazy, but the secretary knew better than to question Asami’s decisions. He had never been so consumed by someone before. Every time Asami was with Akihito - surprising him at his apartment for a quick round of sex or snatching him from a stake-out - Asami could feel the tension in his body fade away. 

His other subordinates had certainly noticed the difference. Every fuck-session with Akihito left Asami tempered for a day or two before the irritated sensation that had troubled him for almost a decade reared back in full force and Asami was forced to go find an unlucky soul to shoot. Lackeys were beginning to learn the pattern to his moods to determine when to push mind-numbing paperwork on him and when to stay the hell away from the dojo, lest they want to become his sparring partner and find themselves beaten to a pulp.

“...close the deal with the South Koreans for the shipment Tuesday.”

“Hm?” Asami asked. 

Kirishima sighed. He’d been giving a detailed report for almost half an hour and Asami hadn’t absorbed any of it. But Kirishima could hardly say anything. Although the photographer was a distraction and Asami’s mood swings were becoming more erratic, he was almost...happy. Content, maybe, as far as a crime lord who spent yesterday torturing a snitch could be. It would fall on Kirishima and Suoh to make sure Asami’s fascination for Takaba didn’t become a problem. 

“I will leave the report with you for later review, Asami-sama.”

“Where is he now?” Asami asked. 

Kirishima didn’t need any clarification. “Takaba-san is finishing up a shoot at an Imprinting ceremony in Shibuya.” 

“Excellent. Bring the car around.”

Kirishima bowed and exited without another word. 

An Imprinting ceremony. Asami had never given Imprinting much thought. His parents hadn’t been Imprinted, and it wouldn’t have saved them from an early death even if they were. Or maybe it would have. Imprinting was sought after by many not only for its instantaneous and unparalleled romantic connection but also for its poorly-understood side effects. With phenomenal luck, wits, athleticism, and interpersonal charm, some Imprinted pairs became almost superhuman. Asami knew more than one gang leader who had gone down the rabbit hole of searching for their Imprint in hopes that it would give them an edge in their business. As if Imprinting couldn’t just as easily lead to their downfall. An Imprinted partner was anyone’s most glaring vulnerability. 

Akihito’s parents were Imprinted. Asami knew from the background file Kirishima had delivered, courtesy of a PI on his payroll. It might help explain Akihito’s success in investigative photography at such a young age. Then again, children of an Imprinted pair could only get so far because of their parents’ bond. Akihito had a spark that was all his own. 

Asami wondered if Akihito was looking for his Imprint. What would happen if he found them? What might Asami do to them, at Akihito’s expense? 

Kirishima broke him away from his thoughts by returning to inform him that the car had arrived. 

Asami savored Akihito’s indignant squawk when he saw Asami leaning coolly on a wall outside the ceremony venue. 

“I don’t have time for your funny business today, Asami!” Akihito yelled. He tried to shoulder past, but Asami easily caught his arm and crowded him against the wall. 

“And what funny business would that be?” Asami whispered in his ear. 

Akihito turned red, stammering, “Let me go! I have errands to run! Groceries to buy!”

“That’s fine. I have nothing on my agenda for the rest of the day.”

Akihito glared at him. “Liar, you’re a complete work-a-holic. I’m surprised you don’t live out of your office. It would save you the commute time.” 

As Akihito rambled on, he didn’t even notice that Asami had been subtly steering him towards the car until he was pushed into the backseat. 

“Hey! My Vespa is here, you can’t just drive me away!”

“One of my men will take care of it,” Asami said, before instructing his driver to head for the supermarket. 

“I can’t buy food now, I was waiting for late night discounts,” Akihito argued. 

“I’m buying.”

“Like I need your pity money!”

Asami glanced at Akihito, who was crouched in a defensive position in the corner of the limo as if expecting Asami to attack at any moment. 

“You can cook dinner for me, then it’s a fair trade.”

Akihito continued to put up petty arguments until they were in the market and Akihito became too busy recoiling at the prices. “Does anyone actually shop here? These prices are astronomical! You should have taken me to my neighborhood supermarket.” 

Akihito grabbed a package of mackerel and waved it in front of Asami’s face. “300 Yen per 100 grams? This is highway robbery!”

Asami honestly didn’t know what grocery prices were reasonable. He hadn’t done his own grocery shopping in years. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d stepped foot inside a market. Presumably his driver had delivered them to the most luxurious market in the city. 

Asami grabbed the fish out of Akihito’s hands and tossed it into the cart. “Buy some eggs as well. I want a traditional Japanese meal.” 

Akihito bristled. Like a cat about to swipe its claws at their owner, he narrowed his eyes and stalked off into another aisle. Asami remained quietly amused. 

As Akihito wandered through the store, picking up snacks and drinks before setting them back down in a huff after seeing the prices, Asami followed along and discretely funneled the items into their cart. Upon reaching checkout, Akihito screeched at their total. 

“It’s too much, let me put back some things! Where did half of this stuff come from anyway?”

Asami ignored him and passed his black card to the shop worker. “Have it delivered,” he ordered. 

“Delivered? Delivered where?” Akihito demanded. 

“My condo of course,” Asami replied. 

“These are supposed to be my groceries!”

“You’re cooking dinner for me as well. You can have your groceries as long as you come with me like a good boy.”

“Don’t say things like that in public, bastard!” Akihito hissed, peeking at the shop worker who studiously pretended she couldn’t hear a thing. 

Ultimately, they didn’t even have sex that night. Akihito begrudgingly returned with Asami to his condo and cooked a nice meal, pushing off Asami’s salacious suggestions that he wear a skimpy apron. 

Through dinner, Akihito complained about the latest drought in police tips he’d been facing, forcing him to take more magazine shoots and weddings to pay rent. Asami kept his face carefully blank. He’d ordered Kirishima to keep Akihito away from the more dangerous assignments. Akihito’s contact, Detective Yamazaki, was a dirty cop who wouldn’t hesitate to throw the photographer under the bus if it meant saving his own skin. 

Listening to Akihito recount the mundanities of his day, Asami was caught off guard by how it felt to sit across from someone and eat a home cooked meal. Most nights he would return to his condo for a glass of whiskey before bed, or for a change of clothes before he returned to his office for another late night of grinding work. It was a lonely existence, but for as long as he’d been alive it was the only way of living he could comprehend. Akihito had upended it all. He’d manage to implant some hunger for domesticity in Asami. 

“And then Kou and Takato bailed on me for some chicks they met at the cafe, so we never even got to go see the horror movie I’d been waiting for.” 

“So watch it on your own.”

“You don’t understand! Movies are a communal experience, it’s only worth enjoying with others.”

“I’ll watch it with you.”

Akihito looked surprised. Asami didn’t know where the idea had come from either. 

“Even if you wanted to, it’s not on DVD yet.” 

As if something so inconsequential could stop Asami. A quick text and not ten minutes later a high-definition bootleg copy was in Asami’s hands. 

Akihito shook his head in dismay. “I should have expected nothing less.” 

Asami and Akihito settled together on the couch and dimmed the lights to start the movie. Akihito shouted in excitement every time a gruesome figure appeared on screen, nesting into Asami’s arm until they were almost glued together. Normally Asami would use this as an opportunity to flip them, devour Akihito’s mouth so he couldn’t protest as Asami stripped him of his clothes. Now, Asami was distracted by the mere feel of their skin touching. He acutely felt every brush of Akihito’s blonde hair against his chest, Asami’s arm against Akihito’s arm, their legs tangled together. Asami wanted to hold Akihito in this moment forever. 

Akihito insisted on continuing a movie marathon after the first movie. Asami indulged, even though he spent the movies focused more on the body next to his than the screen. Half way through the third movie, Akihito fell asleep. Drool leaked onto Asami’s arm as the man scooped Akihito up and gently dumped the boy in his own bed. Crawling under the covers beside him, Asami felt a foreign tenderness. The time to extricate himself safely from this situation had already passed. Asami would no longer let Akihito go. He could no longer let him go. 

* * *

It all came to a head when Akihito got shot. The funny (for a very, very loose definition of the word “funny”) thing is that it wasn’t even Asami’s fault. Or at least it wasn’t _entirely_ Asami’s fault. 

Akihito’s first mistake was working while sick. He became sick so infrequently that he failed to see the warning signs for what they were - brushing off the ache in his muscles and throbbing headache as the result of too much parkour through the city the previous day. By the time he was stationed in a hide-away in the corner of a parking garage, hoping to catch a minor drug deal, he was sweating profusely and racked with full-body shivers. Still, he couldn’t move without risking missing the deal. He didn’t really need the pay-out, but this was the first tip-off he’d received in weeks. He was itching for the adrenaline missing from photographing models and newly engaged couples. 

Akihito’s second mistake was thinking about Asami while on a job. As he waited for the participants of the drug deal to show, he let his mind wander. Inevitably, his thoughts landed on Asami. The crime lord had developed a ludicrous obsession with him. He couldn’t fathom what a powerful man like Asami wanted with a modest freelancer such as himself. Poking around, he had found plenty of photos in the news of the businessman with beautiful women on his arm. Akihito had only a moderate to low certainty that Asami wasn’t still planning on getting his fun before killing him for poking around his club. 

It seemed Akihito couldn’t go a week without running into Asami and tripping into mind-blowing sex. Of course he knew it was all orchestrated by the bastard. Sometimes he’d show up outside of Akihito’s apartment, for christ-sake, citing the transparent excuse of having business “in the neighborhood”. 

The worst part was, Akihito no longer genuinely objected to their ”flings”, or whatever they were. While the first time had been horrifying and dubiously consensual from any perspective, Akihito spent the week after shamefully jerking off to the memory. At night he would try to imagine anything else. He would mine his brain for adolescent wet dreams, but inescapably his mind always returned to the seductive sound of Asami’s voice and the lewd and terrible acts he could force Akihito to enjoy. 

So when Asami came back around time and again, Akihito put up a token protest, but he knew that Asami knew his resistance was lowering. In between rounds of sex Akihito still cussed him out, vowing to bring him down through his viewfinder and expose his shady deals. Asami would only give him a smug, almost indulgent look, and tell him that if Akihito could still manage full sentences, Asami was doing something wrong. 

Akihito’s thoughts of Asami went on so long he didn’t even realize he’d been spotted by his targets until a gunshot rang through the garage. His hair stuck straight up on his neck as he realized the shot was meant for him. Legging it out as best he could, Akihito gripped his camera bag tight around his chest as he made for the emergency exit. It was rare for a target to get the drop on him like this. What were they doing shooting at someone in the middle of the day anyway? He zig-zagged through parked cars, grimacing as another shot pierced the air and smashed a window by his head. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Akihito berated himself as he jumped down the emergency stairs two at a time. His balance felt off and more than once he had to grip the guard rail to prevent himself from tumbling down and cracking his head open. The brief moments of pause added up, and he burst from out of the garage with his shooters dangerously close behind. 

Stepping out into the street, Akihito was almost run over by a BMW that turned sharply to stop before him. The door swung out to reveal Asami - of course. 

“Get in the car,” Asami ordered. 

Akihito hesitated, his body sluggish from what he was now realizing was a fever. He turned around to assess how close his shooter was and the moment of indecision was mistake number three. 

A loud bang reverberated through the street, followed by a shout of pain from Akihito. His arm felt like it had been whipped by a length of molten lava. He barely registered Asami forcefully pulling him into the limo and barking out an order to drive. 

“Akihito! Hey, Akihito!” Asami growled, laying him out on the leather seats. Asami sounded almost worried. Akihito had never heard him shout before; he always kept a lid on such baser emotions, everything locked away behind a reserved facade. Akihito wondered if he should be touched. Asami’s piercing eyes were right in front of his, but his vision was wavering and he couldn’t maintain eye-contact. The inside of the car was spinning around him like a merry-go-round. He was going to puke. 

“Akihito, stay with me,” Asami said. 

If he was in better shape, he’d have responded with a quippy saying. Maybe, “it’s only a flesh wound”. Something that would have wiped the concern off of Asami’s face and made him crack a wry smile. 

As Akihito was - feverish and bleeding from a shot to his arm - he did the most reasonable thing for the moment. He passed out. 

* * *

Asami resolutely did not panic. He knew the wound wasn’t deep and the bullet hadn’t embedded in Akihito’s arm. It was producing an alarming amount of blood even as Asami applied pressure and tried to makeshift a tourniquet, but it wouldn’t kill him. 

Asami placed his other hand on Akihito’s forehead. As he suspected, Akihito was burning up. He must have caught a virus, which would explain how his targets had managed to catch him by surprise. 

“Call the clinic, warn them we’re coming,” he told Kirishima and Suoh in the front of the car. 

When they arrived, Asami carried Akihito bridal style through the back of an unassuming building. Despite being a smaller clinic, the place was well-kept and full of the latest medical tech. Asami had been paying the head physician a hefty sum for years in exchange for on-call access to treatment and the highest level of discretion. Over the years, he had outfitted more and more of the clinic until its equipment rivalled a large hospital system and he had his own private suite. 

Sensei Nakamura was expecting him and had already prepared an exam room when he kicked his way through the door. She’d spent several decades in emergency medicine before buying her own practice and had saved Asami’s life multiple times already. 

“Lay him down here,” she said, patting the sterilized exam table with a gloved hand. “I must say, I thought you’d gotten yourself shot again. I’ve seen more firearm injuries treating you than I have during my entire career in the emergency room” 

While Kirishima had called ahead, he must have failed to specify who was injured. 

Nakamura was already cutting away Akihito’s shirt to assess the wound. “If you’re going to stay here you’ll need to wash up and put a gown on. I won’t have you infecting my patient,” she said. 

If it was anyone else giving orders Asami would have been infuriated. Nakamura, however, had been treating his injuries since he was nothing more than a teenage street runner without even the money to pay for his own care. He silently obeyed, watching Nakamura work quickly to take Akihito’s vitals and evaluate the damage. 

“He was lucky, it’s mostly just a graze. It doesn’t look like any fragments of the bullet are embedded, and there’s no major vascular trauma or fractures. I’ll need to stitch him, and he’ll have limited mobility for some time. He might need physical therapy afterwards if there’s lasting damage to the muscle.” 

Asami knew Nakamura was saying all of this for his benefit, trying to calm him down from his clear agitation. 

“He has a fever as well.”

Nakamura nodded. “Yes I suspect he has the flu, or maybe a case of mild pneumonia. We’ll have to monitor him carefully to avoid the potential for his injury to worsen his infection. I can take a chest x-ray later to see if he’ll need antibiotics.” 

The doctor continued to work diligently until Akihito’s injuries were fully cleaned and stitched. Akihito was then moved to the suite hidden away in the back of the clinic. 

“You should have mentioned you were Imprinted,” Nakamura said, hooking an IV drip on to a rack and delicately threading the needle into Akihito’s uninjured arm. 

“Excuse me?” Asami said. “We’re not-we’re not Imprinted.”

“Oh.” The doctor sounded genuinely shocked. 

“Why would you-” Asami started, before stopping. “Can you test us?”

Nakamura looked at Asami carefully. “Not in this clinic alone. I can take the blood sample needed from both of you, but the actual lab tests are heavily regulated and only conducted in government Imprinting clinics. If you want to legally register the bond, you’ll also have to get a professional to administer the interview portion of the test.”

“Talk to Kirishima, he’ll help arrange for the lab test. I need this to stay off record.”

The doctor murmured agreement and finished double-checking that Akihito’s condition was stable before exiting the room. Kirishima and Suoh would be outside rearranging Asami’s business plans, and more importantly, tracking down the people who had shot Akihito. 

Was it possible they had Imprinted on each other without noticing? Was such a thing possible? Asami wracked his memory for the earliest instance of them touching. Had they Imprinted at that first meeting before Akihito jumped off the roof? Or had they Imprinted after he abducted Akihito from the fake warehouse drug deal? 

After what could have been minutes or hours later, Nakamura returned to draw their blood before disappearing again with Kirishima. It felt like Asami entered into a fugue state. He couldn’t remember anything, sitting by Akihito’s bedside, until Nakamura and Kirishima returned again with matching perplexed expressions. 

“We managed to rush processing the results. Congratulations, you’re Imprinted,” Nakamura said. 

“How did neither of us notice?” Asami asked. 

“Well, that’s the strange thing. The Imprint bond appears to be old.”

“We met several months ago.”

“Older than that,” Nakamura said. “The quantity of certain antibodies observed only in Imprinted pairs implies you’ve been Imprinted for at least several years.”

Years? It didn’t make any sense. From what the PI had dug up, Akihito hadn’t even lived in Tokyo until a few years ago, and Asami would have remembered the photographer if they had run into each other by chance. 

Unless. 

“Kirishima,” Asami said. “I need you to get me a photo of Akihito - around age 14. 

“Yes sir.”

A suspicion was forming in Asami’s mind. Distant, vague memories of a kid and an alley were coming to the forefront. The odds were astronomical, but everything involving Akihito defied the odds. 

He knew as soon as Kirishima walked back into the room an hour later that his hunch was correct. The look on Kirishima’s face said it all. 

“He’s the same boy from a decade ago. The one that saved your life, the one we never tracked down,” Kirishima said, handing him a photo. 

A young Akihito stared back at him. Hair dark, black, before Akihito must have started dyeing it. He matched Asami’s vague recollection of the teen who had refused to abandon him, who had pressed his hands to Asami’s bloody stomach and tried to save him. Asami should have seen it sooner. The eyes were the same. 

This was why Asami couldn’t stop going back to him. Why he’d spent the last decade feeling out of place, chasing something he didn’t know he’d been missing. 

Nakamura added, “I’ve done some investigating. It’s a miracle your Imprint bond held after being apart for so long. There are no records of such an event happening before, at least not in Japan. For most pairs separated immediately after their Imprint event, the bond won’t hold. That, or sustained lack of close contact with their Imprint drives them both insane.”

Asami laughed somewhat hysterically. In a way, it did feel like he’d been going insane. Being with Akihito these past few months had been his only respite in years, a brief oasis of calm. Ironic that Akihito - ready to jump off the wall and get shot for a scoop - could be described as inciting calm in anybody. 

Asami looked at the photo of young Akihito again. Ten years. They had a lot of lost time to make-up for when Akihito recovered, but Asami imagined they had the rest of their lives.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: gun violence, non-consensual sex (mirroring Asami/Akihito's first sex scene in the manga)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments, kudos, and bookmarks on the first chapter! It has been a long time since I've written fanfiction or been a part of this fandom, so your kind encouragements have meant the world.

The sound of a phone going off woke Akihito, but his eyes felt so gummy and tired he resisted opening them for another moment. His mind automatically clocked the sound as Asami’s ringtone, and sure enough the ringing was followed by Asami’s voice speaking in low tones. 

“--Detain them at one of the warehouses in the Minato ward. Find out which organization they belong to, but don’t start too much before I arrive.”

Akihito pitied the poor souls Asami was referring to. Asami usually took care to avoid letting Akihito overhear anything too incriminating, but Akihito could now recognize his “business voice”. Usually it meant bodies were going to start turning up under mysterious circumstances, floating in Tokyo bay and mutilated beyond recognition. 

“Don’t bother with the guard yet. Make sure he doesn’t skip town.” 

Where was he? The air was thick with the scent of Asami’s aftershave. Maybe he had passed out at Asami’s penthouse again. Akihito groaned as he tried to turn over, grimacing when sharp pain shot through his right arm. 

“I’ll call you back.” 

Akihito finally opened his eyes to see Asami sitting next to him in what was clearly not Asami’s penthouse. The place looked like a hybrid between a hospital and a hotel room - boxes of sterile latex gloves and heavy duty medical equipment contrasted with the unobtrusive decorative paintings on the wall and neutral furniture that looked fresh out of the box.

“Where am I?” Akihito asked, before erupting into a hacking cough. 

Asami handed him a glass of water from the bedside table. “You’re at a clinic. You were shot.”

Right. Scoping out the drug deal at the parking garage had gone south. 

Akihito took a sip of water and almost choked on that too. His hand was trembling slightly as Asami removed the glass from his grip before he could drop it. “Is my camera ok?”

Asami huffed. “You get shot and the first thing you ask about is your camera?”

He pulled Akihito’s camera bag from out behind his chair. Akihito was relieved. It looked in surprisingly good shape, if slightly bloodied. He prayed nothing inside had broken - the lens alone had been at least 100,000 Yen and he didn’t fancy scraping together another three paychecks to replace it. 

“You needed ten stitches, and also managed to walk into a drug deal with pneumonia. You’re lucky your shooters had terrible aim.” 

Sitting in a hospital bed with a throbbing in his arm and a deep wheezing in his chest, Akihito didn’t feel very lucky. 

Something about Asami was off, he realized. Asami’s body was unnaturally still and his eyes, normally directed at Akihito with lust or mild annoyance, passed over him like they were trying to dissect a particularly difficult puzzle. His clothing was slightly rumpled, betraying Asami's normally pristine, fashion-magazine-ready looks. It almost appeared like Asami had slept the night in his suit and tie. 

“When you were fourteen, your school took a class trip to Tokyo,” Asami started. 

Whatever Akihito had been expecting him to say, that wasn’t it. “Wha-what does that have to do with anything? How do you even know that?” Akihito felt like he’d repressed his memories of that trip. 

“You saved a man’s life while you were there,” Asami continued. 

Akihito’s chest felt suddenly heavy, weighed down with lead as unbidden memories resurfaced. The faces were hazy but details lined up - the smart suit, the location, the man with glasses, the pervasive cloud of danger that had lingered over the entire situation. More recent details were being overlaid on top of his memories, like the spider web of rough scarring on Asami’s stomach. Akihito had traced the patterns with his hands while lying next to Asami after more than one night of sex. “It was you. You got shot in the stomach. Kirishima was the man with the glasses who came and took you away.”

Asami nodded. “There’s more.”

The man paused and Akihito found himself deeply disconcerted. Asami was never at a loss for words. 

“That night, we Imprinted.”

A roaring sound fell over Akihito. Distantly, he could hear the sound of a heart monitor going into a frenzy. The throbbing in his limbs was replaced by numbness, like his mind was floating out of his body. 

“Asami! I told you to call for me when he woke up! What on earth did you do to my patient?”

A short woman with round-rim glasses and a severe bob cut rushed into the room, mercifully silencing the still-beeping heart monitor and taking his temperature with a small ear thermometer. 

“We’re...Imprinted?” Akihito said, his voice cracking through the middle of his words. 

The doctor turned to Asami with a disapproving curve in her mouth. “Where is your bedside manner? You broke the news as soon as he woke up?” she said, incredulous. She turned back to Akihito and in a softer tone said, “I am Dr. Nakamura, you are currently in my medical clinic. Are you in any pain? Do you remember what happened to you?”

Akihito didn’t even care that he’d been shot anymore. It couldn’t be real. He couldn’t have Imprinted on Asami, a crime lord he’d been trying to take down. And at age 14? Imprinting alone was a 1 in 10,000 chance. Not immediately recognizing an Imprint was impossible, and subsequently sustaining a bond apart for ten years was even more absurd. But the doctor hadn’t disagreed, and Asami looked anything but joking. 

In his mind, he flipped rapidly through memories of the past ten years. It was true he’d been different ever since that night as a teen. The horrible feelings of anxiety and instability that drove him to act out in high school had started after his trip to Tokyo. Why had he moved to the city to begin with? Something, his Imprint bond apparently, had driven him back. He’d been unconsciously looking for Asami, searching the city for him for years. 

“Did you know?” he yelled at Asami. “Did you know this entire time and not say anything?”

The doctor placed a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder as Akihito tried to launch himself at Asami in anger. 

“Akihito, please calm down. He didn’t know. We only ran the blood results yesterday after Asami rushed you to the clinic for your bullet wound, and it was on my suspicion that the two of you had a bond.” 

“I can’t-I can’t have Imprinted on Asami!” Akihito cried, going into denial. 

Suddenly Asami was looming over him, an ugly glint in his eyes and his voice ten degrees colder. “And why not, Takaba? Because I’m a drug lord? Because you think I’m a perverted sleaze? I know you feel the bond. You can’t escape it, and I wouldn’t let you if you tried.” 

Akihito could actually feel the danger radiating off of Asami, making him flinch into the bed. Dazed, Akihito wondered if Asami could bear to harm his Imprint. If anyone could kill their bonded pair and arrive on the other side untouched, it would be him. 

“Enough. Asami - go - take ten minutes to cool your head off,” Nakamura ordered. Nevermind fearing for himself, Akihito thought Nakamura was asking for a bullet to the head by commanding Asami around like that. 

For a moment it looked like Asami wasn’t going to listen, still leaned menacingly over Akihito’s smaller frame as he cowered. Asami’s eyes flickered from Akihito to the doctor as he straightened up. 

“Five minutes. And I’ll be right outside.” That last part was pointed towards Akihito, like Asami expected him to tear out his IV and escape out the window, bandaged and incapacitated as he was. 

Akihito let out a long exhale as Asami’s suffocating shadow disappeared and the door closed behind him with a click. 

“I need to see the results.” Some neurotic part of Akihito’s mind wondered if Asami could have manufactured the results, if Asami was conniving enough to manipulate the sanctity of Imprinting to tie Akihito to him forever and buy his silence. He felt like he had whiplash from everything that he'd learned in the span of a few minutes.

Nakamura seemed to understand where his mind was at. She produced some papers with numbers that swam on the page in front of Akihito’s eyes. 

“Asami arranged for the labs to be done under the table to prevent any records with the Imprinting registry, but you can have the test repeated at an official Imprinting clinic. You don’t have any reason to believe me, but Asami didn’t tamper with the results.” 

The doctor pointed to a line on the sheet. “MR-3 antibodies are only found in individuals who have Imprinted. In a newly Imprinted couple, the levels detected in the blood are usually under 10. You and Asami both have MR antibody levels in the hundreds, which means your bond has been active for many years.” 

“It’s unheard of for a couple to not immediately recognize the Imprint event, but from what I understand, your first meeting was somewhat...unconventional. And traumatic. I was actually the one to treat Asami’s abdominal gunshot wound from that night. He almost died from perioperative shock and the bullet did heavy damage to one of his kidneys. It’s miraculous he survived and made a full recovery. Under the circumstances, I can understand why the bond didn’t register.”

“It’s all just too much,” Akihito said with a sigh, turning away from the test results. He wished he could go back to those brief, peaceful moments before he had opened his eyes, back when he still believed he was waking up from nothing more than a night of hot sex and planned on breezing out of Asami’s penthouse at his earliest convenience. “I thought Imprinting would be different, you know? Maybe more romantic, like the way they show it in the movies. Perhaps it was childish of me.”

“Every Imprint is different. Despite pop culture’s obsession with it, Imprinting is still so uncommon and misunderstood they don’t even know how to teach it to us when we go through medical school. We might as well be back in ancient Greece, thinking that Imprinting is a rare blessing from the gods.”

Akihito was still wavering. It was one thing to be occasional bed-mates with a crime leader. With their casual meet-ups, Akihito could still convince himself that he was two steps away from catching Asami’s dirty deeds on camera and locking him away for good.

It was another thing entirely to be Imprinted to the most feared man in Japan. What did it say about Akihito that he had Imprinted on such a person? He couldn’t jail his Imprinted partner and condemn himself to a lifetime of conjugal visits and phone calls separated by six feet and a sheet of bulletproof glass. 

The doctor, perhaps sensing his inner turmoil, leaned in and dropped to a whisper - Asami was probably listening to them through the door. “Asami is a dangerous man, but whatever else you might think of him, he cares for you. He probably would even without the bond. He wouldn’t leave your side after bringing you in. His secretary had to bring him a change of clothes. You can’t control who you Imprint on, it would be like trying to control whether you’ll get struck by lightning.” 

The sound of the door opening signaled Asami’s return. His face had returned to its trademark unreadable coolness, as if he was preparing to walk into a firearms deal rather than see his injured Imprint partner. Nakamura leaned back away and busied herself with checking Akihito’s bandages. 

“How long before he can be released?” Asami asked. 

“Soon, probably later today. I’ll send you two home with care instructions and he’ll need to come back to the clinic in two weeks so I can remove the stitches. There’s nothing to do for the viral pneumonia except rest and fluids.” 

Akihito didn’t like the sound of Dr. Nakamura grouping them together, as if she expected Akihito to go back with Asami. 

His wariness was warranted when Asami responded, “I’ll take good care of him.”

“Hey, stop talking about me like I’m not here! I can take care of myself. Just drop me off at my apartment.” If Akihito went home with Asami, he knew he would never be able to claw his way back out. 

Asami smirked, “There’s nothing left in your apartment for you to return to."

* * *

Asami would never admit it, but Akihito’s outburst stung. Asami hadn’t revealed the truth about their Imprint in the most diplomatic manner, but Akihito’s vehement anger and denial at even the possibility was beyond what he had expected. 

Then again, what was Akihito if not defiant and unpredictable? It was precisely these traits that made them evenly matched. Asami could have never Imprinted on a simpering status-seeker who would have gladly touted their bond as an excuse to max out his credit cards and flaunt his name at nightclubs. 

He took his brief banishment to the clinic hallway as an excuse to call his men and order Akihito’s things to be delivered to his penthouse. The boy would throw a hissy fit, but Asami was done playing games. Knowledge of their Imprint had catapulted his possessiveness up to a thousand. God help anyone who tried to take Akihito away from him now. 

Suoh was on stand-by at one of Asami’s warehouses with the second-rate drug dealers who had shot Akihito. Asami would settle the matter of ensconcing Akihito in the penthouse and staffing the perimeter with guards before dealing with them. He was looking forward to blowing off steam after what had been a very, very trying day. 

* * *

Kirishima had been relegated to babysitting duty. 

Akihito fumed, spurning Kirishima’s attempts to get him to eat. “You can’t keep me here, I’ll stay with Kou until I recover! 

Kirishima continued to calmly plate beef and vegetables, sliding it in front of where Akihito was petulantly perched on a dining chair and angrily sipping juice from a straw. 

“You are more than welcome to try getting past the guards. The ones at the door, and down the hall, and in front of the building.”

Akihito sneered. “Maybe I will!” 

Asami had manhandled him back to the penthouse with threats of tying him up and carrying him through the building if he failed to cooperate, in full view of the concierge staff and other residents. The jerk had then stationed Kirishima to keep watch while he attended to “business”, warning Akihito that if he attempted to escape Asami would gladly chain him to the bed and throw away the key. Even if Akihito could get past Glasses, he didn’t have any idea where his Vespa was. If Asami didn’t have it locked away, it was probably already sitting in an impound lot. 

“You need to eat to recover your strength,” Kirishima admonished. 

It was true that just sitting upright was taking a toll on Akihito’s body, especially after the excitement he had endured at the clinic, but he didn’t have the slightest appetite. 

“I’m turning in,” Akihito said, pushing the plate of food away and walking down the hallway towards the guest room, or what had become his de facto bedroom. Standing at the threshold and looking at the cold, neatly pressed sheets of the bed, he hesitated. Getting shot had disturbed him more than he tried to let on to Asami or Dr. Nakamura. The added shock of discovering his Imprint left him craving the comforting warmth of Asami’s embrace, even if he was still pissed at his bonded partner for overriding his wishes with bull-headed selfishness. 

Caving in, Akihito swiftly continued past his room and stepped into Asami’s bedroom. The sheets on the king size bed were still rumpled and unchanged from the last time the man had been there. With him out of the penthouse, this would be the closest replacement. Akihito sighed in contentment as he crawled onto the bed and nested himself in the blankets. 

The boxes of his things had already been unpacked and sorted, his cheap furniture clashing with Asami’s expensive tastes. Akihito shuddered at the thought of Asami’s men folding his underwear into drawers and putting his precious cameras away in a case, but even prior to getting shot, Asami’s penthouse had begun to show alarming signs of domestic cohabitation. Akihito already had a dedicated toothbrush in the bathroom; his favorite flavor of chips was sitting in the pantry; his movies were stacked below the TV. The discovery that they were Imprinted had merely accelerated the process. 

Akihito tried not to dwell on what could have happened if he hadn’t been shot and Dr. Nakamura never had the opportunity to mistake them for a bonded pair. Akihito and Asami may have continued on forever unaware they were Imprinted. Perhaps Asami would have eventually tired of him, and they could have gone their separate ways. 

It wouldn’t have spared him any pain. Akihito could acknowledge that being around Asami put his body and mind at rest in a way he’d been craving for almost half of his life. The days or weeks in between encounters with Asami were when Akihito reverted to his reckless ways, trying to use the adrenaline of jumping off buildings and flying through the city for exclusive photos to drown out his underlying ache. It’s what had gotten him shot to begin with. Even now, encompassed by Asami’s cologne and lying in the faded imprint of the man’s body on the sheets, Akihito could feel Asami’s absence like a phantom limb. 

Akihito was terrified. 

He wanted to run, but he didn’t know whether he would survive it. Another ten years of the same would destroy him, moreso now that he knew the solution to his woes was in front of him and Asami was _his_ \- that legally speaking their Imprint meant Akihito could probably kill in defense of his bond partner and escape conviction by a jury. 

His thoughts continued to spiral further and further until he fell into uneasy sleep.

* * *

Asami was pleasantly surprised by the sight of Akihito in his bed instead of hiding out in the guest room. Golden hair poked out of the covers and a quick turn of the blanket revealed that Akihito was snoring, fast asleep. Asami couldn’t resist running a hand across the boy’s cheek, still slightly ashen with sickness but beginning to recover its pinkish tinge. 

The men in the warehouse had squealed like pigs, tripping over themselves to give up their bosses and organization secrets after only five minutes of Asami with a baseball bat and a wicked serrated knife. They were small fish, but Asami took his time with them after, just as he would take his time dismantling the group they belonged to until only a carcass remained. He lost a bit of sense wherever Akihito was concerned, but the results would be satisfactory for his business anyway. The group’s drug deals were encroaching on his territory and seeding the market with botched meth, and Asami had no intention of loosening the iron grip he held on deals in the area. 

Suoh, seasoned and well-versed in the art of torture, looked slightly green by the time Asami conceded to stop entertaining himself and put a bullet in their heads. He had to stop by Sion to change into a clean shirt before heading home - no need to scare Akihito away anymore than he already had. 

He was not an easy person to accept, he knew that, and even liked it that way. His personality was domineering and possessive, and his position at the top of Japan’s criminal underbelly was as likely to get his lover killed as it was to get himself. In the last 35 years he could count the number of people he had let close to him on one hand, and he could at least rest easy knowing Suoh and Kirishima would hold their own in a gunfight. 

Akihito wasn’t like that. He was still pure, somewhat naive, and optimistic enough to always be looking for the best in everyone he met. In only a few months, the photographer had managed to worm his way into Asami’s heart. If Asami was a kinder man, he would let Akihito go before he was dragged into something he couldn’t bounce back from; before Asami’s actions and the underground tainted him and destroyed the spark in his eyes. 

Asami stripped off his coat and tie, slipping into bed next to Akihito and trying to avoid any jostling of his injured arm. The boy snuffled in his sleep and curled into Asami’s side like a newborn kitten searching for warmth. 

Asami wasn’t going to let Akihito go, he knew himself better than that. The only option would be to protect him from the darkness at all costs. 

“You smell like gunpowder,” Akihito mumbled, blinking drowsily up at him. 

Asami leaned in to kiss Akihito, savoring the soft warmth of his mouth before the boy shoved him away with his good arm. 

“You can’t kiss me you idiot, I’m still sick! Do you want to get the plague or something? It would serve you right!” 

Asami was glad to see that the brief terror Akihito had experienced at the clinic was gone, replaced by his usual irreverent snark. Asami wasn’t given to self-recrimination, but his earlier actions were a blatant lapse in self-discipline; he wanted to shake off the memory of the fear he had incited in Akihito’s face, as if he truly believed Asami would hurt his own Imprint. Breaking Akihito with his own hands was the last thing Asami wanted to do. 

“I’ll just have to kiss something else, then, won’t I?” Asami said, his eyes darkened with lust as he mouthed a trail down Akihito’s stomach and skillfully slipped the boy’s underwear down over his hips. 

Akihito let out half-hearted protests but was still wonderfully pliant from sleep, even lifting his legs to help Asami remove his underwear completely and toss it to the ground. 

Akihito’s cock was already half-hard with arousal, bobbing as Asami licked a sharp line up the length. 

“Oh my god, Asami!” Akihito moaned as Asami swallowed him down without warning. One hand reached out to grip Asami’s hair, not pulling, but just using the contact to steady himself. 

Cognizant of Akihito’s weakened state, Asami held down the boy’s hips, preventing any movement and forcing him to hand over all control. By now Asami knew all the parts of Akihito’s body just as well as his favorite gun. He knew exactly which triggers to pull to drive Akihito crazy. 

Popping off the head of Akihito’s cock, Asami replaced his mouth with his hand, jerking Akihito off a touch too rough - just the way he liked, even if Akihito would never admit so with his words. 

“Listen carefully, Akihito,” Asami said, giving a cruel twist to the boy's nipple when he failed to respond. He waited for Akihito to groan incoherently in accession before continuing. 

“When you recover, I’m going to punish you for putting yourself in danger. I’ll take you over my knee, spank you raw and red until you learn your lesson and can’t sit down without thinking of me.”

“Y-you can’t stop me from working, asshole! You can’t cage me up in your penthouse like a pet!”

“I could make you enjoy it. Chain you to the bed frame and keep you slick and always open for me. Force you to finger yourself every morning and suck me off before I leave for work. I’ll plug you up before I go until you can’t live without something inside of you and cage your cock so you spend all day desperate for me to return. You’ll only get to come when I’m inside of you, by my hand. I’ll turn you into a true pet, train you to kneel at all times by my side and beg for the privilege of my cock.”

“You wish you bastard! I’ll die before that happens!”

Akihito was fiercely bucking into Asami’s grip now, turned on by Asami’s dark fantasies and begging with his body even as his mouth protested. 

“I have no desire to trap you, to destroy your fire, or take your job, but I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe," Asami admitted. Only I can lay a hand on your skin. No one else can do this to you, only me.”

Akihito reached a hand down to try and speed Asami up, but Asami easily caught his wrist and pinned it to the bed. Asami pushed the rest of his still-clothed body against Akihito’s, preventing him from any other movement. 

“Let me come!”

“Tell me who you belong to and I’ll give you everything you want,” Asami said. He let his hand speed up by a fraction before slowing back down to an agonizing pace with just enough friction to drive Akihito wild. 

“Please…” Akihito whimpered, biting his lips in defiance. His head thrashed from side to side as he tried to escape Asami’s grip. 

“Say it,” Asami breathed into his ear, nibbling at the sensitive skin behind his neck. 

“I-I belong to you! Only you,” Akihito sobbed. 

“Good boy,” Asami said, sinking his teeth deep into Akihito’s shoulder as he tightened his hand and drove Akihito into a devastating orgasm. He continued to jerk him off until Akihito was shaking with overstimulation, only stopping when he saw tears in his eyes. 

Asami rose from the bed to strip and wash up, returning with a wet hand towel to wipe Akihito down. The boy was already asleep again when he returned, passed out from exhaustion. Asami shouldn’t have pushed him so far while he was still recovering. No doubt Nakamura would tear him a new one if she found out. It seemed he just couldn’t resist the call of Akihito’s body. That, and after the events of the past 48 hours, he needed to hear the words from Akihito’s mouth, needed to mark his body with his ownership. Maybe it was disingenuous to use sex to coerce acknowledgements from Akihito, but Asami didn’t play fair. 

“Only me,” Asami whispered, looking down at Akihito’s sleeping form. 

* * *

It was a text from Kou and Takato two weeks later that startled Akihito into realizing that he hadn’t yet told anyone about his Imprint. How would he explain Asami to his friends? To his parents? 

Under normal circumstances, their Imprint would be a highly celebrated event. Imprint ceremonies were elaborate, expensive affairs, usually heavily publicized in the news even if the bonded pair came from normal backgrounds. Society’s obsession with the perceived romanticism and blessing of an Imprint meant the very act of having Imprinted was enough to turn people into celebrities overnight.

Akihito remembered the doctor’s words - that Asami had illegally obtained their test results to avoid officially registering their bond. It made a certain degree of sense. Registering with the government meant validating their bond through both a blood test and an interview, one that would quickly uncover the suspicious conditions under which Akihito and Asami had met, and then re-met. 

A more pitiful side of Akihito wondered if Asami was ashamed of their bond. Akihito was leagues below Asami, not even considered enough of a man to know exactly what Asami did for a living. And why would Asami involve him in his business? Akihito was just a punk-ass photographer, one who couldn’t even manage a stake-out without getting shot. Akihito bet Asami was cursing his luck, wishing he had Imprinted on someone who was his equal, who could stand beside him in his business deals and his personal life. 

Akihito tossed his phone aside, text from his friends unanswered. Just the thought of Asami with another turned his stomach. In such a short period of time, Akihito had become utterly dependent on Asami in a way that would have made his previous self laugh. 

Akihito had spent the last two weeks reluctantly recovering at Asami’s place, only emerging from the penthouse to get his stitches removed at the clinic. He rubbed the still tender tissue of his arm. Asami had made any number of threats as to what would happen if Akihito tried to escape before he was fully healed and staffed a full rotation of guards outside the penthouse. 

Well, his stitches were out. His fever and cough had already disappeared under the onslaught of herbal teas and broths prepared by Kirishima, as if acting as a home cook wasn’t infinitely below his pay grade. 

That meant it was time to stage a breakout. He would find another investigative job, reassure himself that he was still in the game and could stand on his own two feet. Imprint or not, he didn’t need Asami to prop him up. 

* * *

Akihito breathed in the sweet fresh air, the scent of freedom tickling his nose. He may have had to set an oil fire in Asami’s kitchen to distract the guards, but it was a small one! He made sure the damage would be limited to the stove before escaping down the stairs and out a service entrance. After all, his belongings were there as well. Akihito was still bitter about Asami moving him in without his consent. Perhaps after scoring a new job he would go apartment hunting. 

He walked to the police station quickly, looking over his shoulder for Asami’s men. The last thing he needed was for one of them to drag him out of the station and discredit any ins he had with the detectives there.

“Yama-san!” Akihito exclaimed. 

The man in question looked up from a desk of paperwork, surprise and concern written across his face.

“Akihito? Where did you disappear to? We all thought you were a goner! You never came back from the last drug deal I sent you to cover, and the guys turned up dead two days later. I thought I’d gotten you killed.”

Dead?? Akihito’s heart fluttered in his chest. He didn’t want to acknowledge the possibility, but it was likely Asami’s doing. He remembered the smell of gunpowder on his hands after Asami returned that first night out of the clinic. Asami’s insistence that he would be the only one to touch Akihito took on a new, disturbing light. 

Akihito squashed down his inner turmoil and affected cheerful innocence, perching himself on the corner of Yama’s table and gesturing to his body with wide arms. 

“I’m alive and well! Just got sick for a while, you know how there’s always a bug going around.” It was half the truth. Maybe more like one-fourth.

Yama looked unconvinced, but Akihito pushed forward. “Got any tips for me? I need to get back into the game, pick up some work. Bills to pay, you know?”

“I’ve got nothing for you, kid. Organized Crime is digging around some mysterious Chinese players surfacing around Tokyo clubs, but there’s nothing concrete saying they’re involved in smuggling. Besides, it’s too dangerous for you, these guys are real trouble, big guns. Take some commercial jobs, you’ve got a fine portfolio and there’s plenty of work to be found.”

“C’mon Yama-san,” Akihito wheedled. “How long have you known me? I can get the job done, just give me the chance!”

“Knowing you since you were a kid is exactly why I’m not sending you into this. You’ve got to stop getting yourself involved in drug scandals, these people have guys everywhere, even high-level in the department. They won’t hesitate to take out a punk like you if they find you sniffing around.”

“They won’t find me!”

“Listen, it’s out of your league. If you keep doing the same things, you’ll be dead before you ever become a man,” Yama said, his tone indicating it was the end of the conversation.

Akihito huffed in annoyance. “Fine! If you have anything for me later, you know where to call.”

Akihito stomped off, pretending to veer down the hall to the bathroom but in reality circling back to hide behind a potted plant in the corner of the office. If Yama stepped away from his desk, maybe he could sneak a peek at the papers on his desk and lift an address. 

He was in luck. Yama stepped outside to take a call and Akihito quickly snuck over, glancing through the open files. An address for a club in Roppongi was listed on several papers. It was as good of a lead as any. 

Akihito turned to make his exit out the back door before Yama could return, but paused half-way through opening it at the sound of Yama-san’s voice in the alley outside. 

“-- don’t know anything about why Asami took out your men. No I don’t think the kid’s involved, he doesn’t know anything. Yes I’m sure, I’m the one whose ass is on the line!”

Akihito covered his mouth, peering in disbelief through the slit of the doorway as Yama kicked a trash can in frustration. 

“Don’t you dare bring my daughter into this! I’m already taking the fall if something goes wrong. Who do you think is letting you do business in this town in the first place?”

Akihito silently closed the door before Yama could catch him snooping, hurrying out the front door of the police station in complete disbelief. Yama-san, a man who had looked after him for so long, who’d given him his first leg-up in investigative photography, was a crooked cop. It seemed everything in his life had become twisted. He didn’t know who to trust anymore. 

* * *

Two hours into the stake-out and Akihito hadn’t seen anyone go in or out of the club other than tipsy groups of young 20-something year olds and a few insanely drunk salarymen stumbling over their own two feet. The club looked like any other lining the block, maybe with slightly better security and nicer fixtures. 

This was already the second night he’d spent hunched on the roof of an opposing building, looking through his viewfinder for any signs of suspicious activity. His joints vehemently protested the idea of a third night spent lying on a concrete slab. If he didn’t catch anything soon, he’d have to call the whole thing a flop. 

Akihito had decided, not without much hand-wringing, that he couldn’t rat out Yama-san. Although the detective had clearly fallen in with the wrong crowd, Akihito was sure he had his reasons. The decision still left a heavy feeling in Akihito’s heart, like he was betraying his own morals. These days everything seemed to fall into shades of gray, so counter to the black and white Akihito had become accustomed to for the past 23 years. 

Akihito half-heartedly snapped a few photos of the club entrance, noting the security guards and people waiting to get into the club. The men in suits standing behind the velvet ropes brought back memories of Asami’s anger upon returning to a smoky penthouse with chagrined guards hovering over a slightly worse for wear stove. After recovering from the sight, Asami had taken Akihito into the bedroom and sexed him in punishment until he had come five times, begging for mercy. The bastard had taken pleasure in the fact that Akihito could hardly walk straight the next morning. 

Luckily, Asami subsequently came to (some) sense and relented to allowing Akihito out of the apartment. Most likely under the threat of further arson, although Akihito liked to think he made a convincing argument beyond catching Asami’s penthouse on fire. 

Even “allowed” out, guards tailed him constantly, not covert in the slightest. Whereas he’d seen one or two on his tail even before getting shot, they were usually easy enough to throw off. These new guards were terribly persistent. He usually had only a few good hours before they managed to track him down again and circled him like flies. Suoh, as the head of security, was already developing an ulcer from his antics, but it wasn’t Akihito’s fault Asami was a controlling asshole. They’d save themselves the headache if Asami shoved off and left Akihito to do as he pleased. 

Speaking of, Akihito prayed for someone of interest to show up at the club soon. He had maybe an hour before Asami’s guards showed up to drag him away, and he had no idea when Asami would be returning home from his own work. As much as he resented the idea of playing good little Imprinted housewife to Asami, he had to admit he enjoyed the tentative routine they had entered of greeting each other home and eating together each night. 

A sudden burst of activity at the club entrance and Akihito returned his concentration to his camera. A long-haired woman, no, a man? - with foreign features, a sharp black suit, and looks to kill swept out of the club. Akihito assumed he must be part of the suspected group of Chinese smugglers. Akihito snapped a few photos, zooming in to get a better shot before recoiling in horror. Right behind the man, who could have easily passed for a model, was Asami’s unmistakable outline. 

Typical! Even in Akihito’s work, he couldn’t escape the man. But what was Asami doing here? Was this another one of his clubs?

Akihito steadied his camera and re-focused his telescope lens on the figures. The long-haired man was getting uncomfortably cozy with Asami, his hands - oddly wrapped in expensive leather gloves - resting purposefully on Asami’s arm as he leaned in to whisper something in his ear. Even worse, Asami appeared unconcerned with the intimacy of the other man’s actions, failing to shake him off. Akihito desperately wished he could hear what they were saying.

Finally, the two parted ways, the long-haired Chinese man disappearing with his own entourage of guards and Asami entering his car with Suoh and Kirishima in tow. 

Akihito remained frozen on the rooftop, his mind racing with possibilities as a dark pit of jealousy formed inside of him. The man looked so familiar with Asami. Were they past lovers? Were they _current_ lovers? Although Asami was a possessive bastard when it came to Akihito being around others, there was no guarantee Asami wasn’t sleeping around. Even Imprinted, Asami didn’t owe Akihito anything. 

The other man was clearly dangerous, probably just as familiar with the underground as Asami. Unlike Akihito, he looked perfectly at home by Asami’s side. He looked like someone who would kill without hesitation; who Asami would be proud to Imprint on, to declare his bond to the world with. 

If Akihito really wanted to single-handedly possess Asami’s heart, what would he have to do?

* * *

Asami returned to a quiet condo. Alarmingly quiet, in fact. His “I’m home” echoed down the empty hall, lingering without response. He’d already become accustomed to hearing Akihito’s cheerful, “welcome home!” in response, sometimes accompanied by the banging sound of pots and pans as the photographer prepared dinner. 

The guards reported that Akihito had returned home before him, but the only sign of the boy was his sneakers set neatly by the door. Asami cautiously inched through the penthouse, one hand irrationally going to the holster of his gun; the abnormal stillness filling the air felt hostile, like he was about to walk into a shoot-out. 

The living room, kitchen, and his bedroom were all empty and untouched from earlier that day. Asami finally found Akihito in the large storage closet off of the guest bedroom that had been converted into a darkroom. The photographer looked small and wary, hunched over his workbench and bathed in the eerie red light of the darkroom. 

One look at the photographs in Akihito’s hands and Asami realized what had sparked his mood. His own face, next to Fei Long’s, looked back at him from the black-and-white print. 

“Were you two lovers?” 

The words shocked Asami, but he didn’t let any emotion bleed into his voice. “No.”

“Are you ashamed that we're Imprinted?” Akihito asked, accusingly turning around to face Asami. His eyes were glistening with hints of wetness and there was a poorly-concealed tremble in his voice. 

“What’s gotten into your head, Akihito?” 

“None of this is right! The way we Imprinted, the way we met again, it’s all beyond fucked up! And now I don’t know what to tell my friends or my parents, I don’t know if I’m supposed to keep our Imprint under wraps like a dirty secret,” Akihito said, eyes returning to the photo. “I saw you at the club with this man and all I could think about was how good you two looked together. I hate myself for it. I don’t want to feel this weak.” 

“Fei Long and I are not, and have never been, lovers,” Asami said, forcing the photo out of Akihito’s hands and gripping his face. “He’s a business associate, and one you should stay away from at all costs considering he won’t hesitate to use any sign of vulnerability to stab me in the back at the first chance. I’m not ashamed of you, but I can’t go spreading the news of our Imprint to every two-bit gangster and drug lord in Asia. They’ll come after you, and you already have a horrible habit of ditching my guards.”

Akihito looked even more dismayed at his words. Done with his foul mood already, Asami forcibly pulled Akihito out of the darkroom and back to his bedroom. 

“Hey!” Akihito protested. “Sex isn’t always the answer, you know!”

“Shut up,” Asami said, tossing him deceptively gently onto the bed before rustling through his closet, looking for the small box he had hidden there weeks ago, back when Akihito spent most of his time knocked out from fever and pain medications. 

Looking at the mystery item in his hands, Akihito went from dispirited to reluctantly interested. His features morphed again into mute shock when Asami knelt in front of him. He opened the box to reveal a delicate gold chain with a circle pendant on the end, the metal twisted into a mobius strip. It was the traditional symbol of Imprinting, one that Akihito no doubt recognized from his parents’ own Imprinting rings. 

“I can’t give you a traditional ring, it would put a target on your head as soon as you step foot out the door. But I can give you this,” Asami said, looping the necklace over Akihito’s slender neck and tucking it into his shirt until only the top of the chain was visible. “You can keep it hidden under your shirt, wear it by your heart. Make no mistake, Akihito, you are my Imprint. You are mine alone, and I am yours alone in return. Jealousy doesn’t suit you, especially unwarranted as it is.”

Akihito traced his hands over the smooth edges of the pendant, turning it back and forth in the light before turning his eyes to Asami’s. “If you cheat on me, I swear I’ll cut off your balls!”

There he was. 

Asami climbed on to the bed, crowding Akihito until he was caged under Asami’s arms. “I better not give you the opportunity, then. What was it you were saying about sex not always being the answer?”

Mouthing the exposed space on Akihito’s neck above the chain, Asami made sure Akihito was too breathless to respond. 

* * *

“C’mon Aki, you ghost us for three weeks saying you’re ‘sick’ and then come back to tell us you’ve moved in with some random chick who we can’t even meet?” Kou said. 

Akihito grimaced and took a large swig of his beer to buy himself time from answering. He knew he would regret going out to dinner with his friends, but he couldn’t put them off forever with vague excuses of being sick or on a job. 

“She’s...shy, okay?” Akihito said. “And the relationship is still new. I’m not gonna drive her away by exposing her to you two nuts!”

Akihito felt bad for lying so blatantly to his best friends in the world, but the alternative was incomprehensible. Admitting that he had:

  1. Imprinted
  2. on a man, who was 
  3. the head of crime in all of Tokyo, and possibly Japan 



was just asking for his friends to send him to a mental ward. Or worse, they would believe him and stage some sort of half-baked intervention that would get them killed. 

“Shy, huh?” Takato said, poking one of the monstrously large hickeys on Akihito’s neck. “She sure doesn’t seem too shy to me.” 

A blush crawled over Akihito’s face like a wildfire. He slapped Takato’s hand away, sputtering the whole time. “Will you two leave it! Why don’t you tell me how your sad love lives are going instead of interrogating me, huh?”

Kou gave a despondent sigh over his plate of food, launching into a rant about the latest girl that had stood him up on a date. Akihito breathed in relief with the pressure momentarily off his shoulders, although the glint in Takato’s eyes said it was only a matter of time before they cornered him again on the subject. 

Asami’s insistence that their Imprint remained a secret was the right call, and being around his friends reminded Akihito that introducing them to the crime lord would be like pouring gasoline on a bonfire. The heat of the Imprinting necklace Asami had gifted him against his chest was enough these days to quell his insecurities. 

“I’ll be right back, okay guys?” Akihito said, patting Kou’s arm and beelining for the bathroom at the back of the restaurant. 

Closing the door of the single-stall bathroom behind him, Akihito went pee and stood for a good while in front of the dusty mirror, splashing water on his face to delay returning to his friends’ well-meaning questions. They cared about him and wanted him to find happiness, but in their minds happiness meant a cute blonde with an office job who liked partying on the weekends and didn’t mind him getting drunk with the guys after work. Not a significantly older crime boss who had already killed men in Akihito’s name. 

He closed his eyes, trying to find a moment of peace until he heard the sound of the door click behind him. “The stall’s occup-” Akihito began, before the words died in his throat. 

In the reflection of the mirror he could see the figure standing behind him - the same long-haired man from his photos, looking out of place in the dingy bathroom with his thousand dollar suit and carefully groomed features. 

_Fei Long_. 

“So you’re Asami’s newest plaything, hm?” Fei Long said, the barest hint of an accent in his voice. “I must say I was expecting someone a little more...refined.” Fei Long cast a disparaging eye over Akihito’s clothes, taking in his threadbare T-shirt and vintage jeans. 

“Sorry to disappoint” Akihito said sardonically. “What do you want from me, Fei Long?” The man was blocking the only exit, and the space was small enough that his presence forced Akihito to back up against the hard porcelain sink. 

“Oh, should I be flattered Asami told you who I am?” Fei Long purred, closing the gap between them to finger the collar of Akihito’s shirt just below his hickeys with one gloved hand. “I see he’s been liberal in staking his claim on you. I wonder how long this little interest of his will last?”

With a sudden rip, Akihito's shirt was torn down the shoulder, revealing more angry red marks Asami had left the night before. Fei Long’s face, however, turned from amused to stone upon seeing the gold pendant hanging from Akihito’s neck. 

“What on earth…?” he wondered, pinning Akihito uncomfortably in place against the sink as he turned the circle over in his hand. 

“You’ve Imprinted on him,” Fei Long said, voice icy with contempt and disbelief. 

Akihito scrambled for an excuse, wondering where the hell Asami’s guards were the one time he actually needed them. “What are you talking about? That’s a family heirloom, get your dirty hands off of it!” 

Fei Long was unmoved, his eyes dark and unreadable. “I apologize for this, Takaba.”

Those were the last words Akihito heard before he felt the prick of a needle on his hip and his eyes rolled to the back of his head, slipping him into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Brief description of off-screen violence, Implied kidnapping


	3. Chapter 3

Asami punched a hole through the wall of his office when Kirishima delivered the news.

“Dammit! Where were his guards?”

“Three guards were found unconscious in the alley behind the restaurant. The men stationed across the street didn’t see Fei Long go in or out, they only realized something was wrong when Akihito’s friends exited the building without him,” Kirishima said.

Asami was going to hunt Fei Long down and put a bullet between his scheming, smug eyes. He should have known the triad leader’s request for a meeting to talk about a stolen casino deed and trouble with the Russians was bullshit. Fei Long had come to Tokyo for Akihito, and he’d gotten him.

“Did you track the necklace?” Asami asked.

“Yes, Fei Long dumped it behind the restaurant.”

Kirishima held the necklace in question out to Asami, already cleaned but still scuffed from its time in a garbage bin. The tracker embedded in the gold pendant had been Asami’s last hope for recovering Akihito before Fei Long disappeared with him overseas.

“Get me Yoh on the phone, now,” Asami said.

“Yes, Asami-sama,” Kirishima said, bowing out of the room.

Asami angrily banged through the drawers of his desk, searching for bandages so he wouldn’t bleed all over his paperwork. Tearing them into strips, he wrapped them too tight around the torn and bloody skin of his knuckles.

If Fei Long had tossed the necklace, then he knew without a doubt that Asami and Akihito were Imprinted. It was Asami’s worst fears come true.

Asami wasn’t one to be blindsided, but he never actually expected his mess from seven years ago to come back and haunt him. Fei Long still blamed him for the death of his father, even now that he had taken over and revived the once destroyed Baishe. He’d naively thought Fei Long had moved on. They had tentatively maintained a business relationship for years already. In reality, Fei Long had been waiting for the perfect moment to strike and now Asami’s negligence had Akihito’s life on the line.

Asami pocketed the necklace. He would return it to Akihito’s neck soon enough. If Akihito’s stubborn eyes had been harmed, if his strength was lost...Asami wouldn’t allow anyone outside of himself to change his Imprint. It was time to go to Hong Kong and settle things once and for all. No matter what it took, Asami would get Akihito back in his arms.

* * *

Akihito woke once to total darkness. Distantly, he recognized the odd sensation of rocking back and forth, as if he were on a boat. He reached an arm into the darkness, hoping Asami was lying next to him in bed and it was all a bad dream, before passing out again.

Akihito woke a second time to find himself in a metal cage just barely large enough to allow him to sit upright and turn around without hitting the bars. His head was pounding and his mouth felt like it was full of cotton from whatever that asshole Fei Long had drugged him with. The hard floor of the cage had also done no favors to his back, which creaked and popped as he forced himself up.

The room the cage was in looked like storage, no windows or clocks on the walls to indicate how long he’d been imprisoned. His hands automatically went to his neck, which was bare. Fei Long had taken his necklace. He felt a rush of anger at that, even worse than the baseline anger he felt at being drugged and kidnapped.

Asami would come for him, right? That must be why Fei Long had taken him to begin with? Fei Long knew they were Imprints now, and probably wanted to use it as leverage against Asami.

Pulling his knees up to his chest, Akihito couldn’t help but rock back and forth a little at the thought that Asami could just leave him behind. He knew he was no longer in Japan - he had the vaguest recollection of being in a shipping container, swaying back and forth on the water.

His thoughts spiraled - what if Fei Long killed him before anyone came for him, what if Asami never realized he was gone, what if - until a small boy in Chinese attire scurried into the room, dumping a plate of half-eaten food in front of his cage and proclaiming him to be a “dirty Japanese!” before racing out.

“Hey kid, wait! How long am I gonna be locked in here?” Akihito called out after him, desperate to get an answer from the first person he’d seen. It was no use, he once again found himself alone.

Akihito couldn’t bring himself to care about the food, or the fact that some kid was toying with him. He took a few frantic sips of water, but despite the fact that it had to have been over 24 hours since he’d eaten at the restaurant with his friends, but he couldn’t stomach touching anything on the tray. The room wasn’t cold but he was shaking out of his skin. He felt like if he didn’t touch Asami soon, he might actually die. If anything, the hunger pains distracted him from these other pains.

The kid reappeared after what must have been a few hours later, carrying a new (but also half eaten) tray of food. He looked confused at the untouched tray still sitting in front of Akihito’s cage, faltering before deciding to place the new tray beside it. After giving Akihito a disturbed look, he vanished through the door once again.

Akihito felt unwell, and it must have shown. Not an hour later and a stone-faced man with a gun came to unlock the cage. He wordlessly tossed Akihito into a shower and man-handled him into traditional Chinese clothing before bringing him to a well-furnished parlour room where Fei Long sat behind a large spread of food, artfully laid out and still steaming.

“Akihito - I apologize if I hadn’t made your initial welcome to Hong Kong pleasant. I hear you’ve been starving yourself. That simply won’t do,” Fei Long said, gesturing to the plates in front of him. “Please, sit. Eat.”

The last part was a command and the guard nudged Akihito with his gun until Akihito was seated in a chair directly across from Fei Long. Under the man’s exacting eyes, and the weight of the guard looming behind him, Akihito forced himself to take a few bites from the dishes in front of him. They were clearly professionally cooked, all the right balances of spices and seasonings, but even expensive tuna tasted like ash on Akihitos’ tongue.

“Why am I here?” Akihito asked. The guard clocked him painfully over the head with his gun for speaking out of turn, but a quick shake of Fei Long’s head sent him out of the room.

“Let’s just say Asami has a debt to repay me, and I intend to collect. He’s been avoiding Hong Kong for some time now, but having his Imprint under my care will be sure to draw him out of Japan.”

“Under your care.” Akihito scoffed at the euphemism. “So what, you kidnapped me to be a pawn because the two of you have bad blood? Why can’t you leave innocent people out of this?”

Fei Long’s eyes darkened. “You’re hardly innocent anymore, Imprinted to Asami as you are. You can’t deny that he’s killed for you, and will do it again.”

Akihito gritted his teeth in anger. “I had no say in that!”

“But you’ll stand by him as he does it.”

Fei Long’s words re-ignited the inner conflict Akihito had already been facing. He knew Asami had killed the men who’d shot him, and he didn’t know how to feel. It wasn’t as if he didn’t already know that Asami had done unspeakable things to build his business, but it was one thing to see violence through a camera lens after a deal gone wrong and another thing to know Asami took revenge because someone had hurt him.

“Would you have me betray him? It doesn’t matter that we’re Imprinted, I can’t turn my back on someone that easily,” Akihito said.

“No, I suppose you can’t,” Fei Long said enigmatically. The man rose from the table to pace in front of the windows lining the far end of the room.

“You may think Imprinting means you know Asami, but you’ve only just scratched the surface. That man has more blood on his hands than any of us.”

“What does it matter to you? You seemed cozy enough with him at the club the other night,” Akihito said bitterly.

“Ah, were you jealous?” Fei Long asked, sidestepping the question entirely. “To be honest, I expected you might be snooping with your little camera. You needn’t worry, the time for anything but enmity between us has long passed.”

Akihito sighed, pushing the food in front of him around on his plate and wishing Fei Long would get to the point. He’d rather be locked back up in the cage than be exposed to Fei Long’s mercurial moods, which only worsened the tired anxiety he felt from being kidnapped.

Below that still was an undercurrent of tension, a nebulous sensation that felt not entirely his own. If Akihito had to guess, he would say it was his Imprint bond with Asami, strengthened from weeks of everyday spent by his side. He never said a word about it to Asami, knowing the man probably thought such a thing was supernatural nonsense, but the feeling was normally warm and welcomed. Now, an ocean apart, their bond felt nauseating and Fei Long’s hospitality likely didn’t extend to Akihito puking on his oriental rug.

“I just want to go home to Japan,” Akihito said, the words desperate even to his ears.

“Listen, Akihito. You don’t need to worry about harm coming to you here as long as you do as I say...all you have to do is obey, understand? Try to please me. Put me in a good mood.”

Akihito went cold inside thinking of what Fei Long could mean from his words.

Before he could ask, the guard returned to escort him out of the room, most of the food on the table still untouched. “I’ll see you tonight,” Fei Long called back, his voice teasing as the door shut with a damning thud behind him.

* * *

Yoh was ready to saw someone’s arm off with a Swiss army knife by the time he tracked Fei Long down to his hideaway at one of the Triad’s many secure headquarters.

He’d spent a good portion of his morning on the phone with Asami, trying to diplomatically convince him that brute force storming Hong Kong without any leverage would only get Akihito shot. For such a smart man, he’d begun to lose his head where his Imprint was concerned. If Yoh didn’t act fast, Asami would stage his attack, consequences be damned. Yoh had then spent the entire afternoon listening in on meetings between the Baishe advisors, all of whom were up in arms. Several of them were close to suggesting Fei Long be unseated as head of the Baishe for his unsanctioned kidnapping.

By the time he finally caught up to the Baishe head, he had no more energy to expend on niceties.

“Are you insane?” Yoh asked, uncaring that his impertinent tone could have him put to death.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to,” Fei Long replied, lounging in his bedroom with the curtains tied shut and the heavy weight of smoke curling around him.

“You kidnapped Asami’s Imprint! The Baishe advisors want your head for this. Messing with an Imprint is well beyond their code. You might as well spit in the face of God,” Yoh said.

“This has nothing to do with the Baishe.”

“That’s even worse. They say you’re putting the organization in danger for your own petty feud.”

Fei Long didn’t rise, but his eyes sharpened as he shook off some of his opium-induced hazy, relaxed state. “Remember who you work for, Yoh. The advisors will be pacified when Asami is eliminated and we can take over his trade routes.”

“You know it’s not that simple. Taking him out is only going to create a power vacuum, one we will have no control over. There is no guarantee that whoever comes out on top of that dog-fight will do business with us.”

“We still have majority control over routes in Burma and the Philippines. Whoever claws their way to the top will be wise to negotiate with us when the time comes,” Fei Long responded.

“Fei Long-sama,” Yoh said, changing to a more conciliatory tone in the face of Fei Long’s continued stubbornness. “I have remained faithfully by your side for many years. You know I do not question your decisions lightly. I am begging you to reconsider and release the boy, for your own safety.”

“You know just as well as I do that I’m not going to give him up that easily. One way or another, this is going to end. If Asami wants to try finishing what he started seven years ago, so be it,” Fei Long said.

Yoh didn’t expect anything less from Fei Long, but his chest was still tight with fear even as his face remained carefully impassive. If Asami came to Hong Kong, he and Fei Long would tear each other to shreds. Even more, Yoh’s status as a traitor to the Baishe would come to light. His loyalty lay with Asami, as it always had, and he would not betray him, but he didn’t want to see Fei Long self-implode for the sake of revenge.

“Go bring me Akihito, would you?” Fei Long commanded.

Yoh feared for him, too.

* * *

Akihito had spent an indeterminate amount of time staring at the walls of the small, dark room the guard stuck him in after meeting Fei Long. It was no better than the cage, really, other than the presence of a rickety cot he could lie on for brief periods of restless sleep.

When a new guard came to take him out, he already felt like he was beginning to go crazy. He could feel Asami’s worry leaking through their bond, feeding into his own.

The guard delivered him to a dimly lit room dominated by a large bed draped with dark curtains. Fei Long lay in the middle, looking unusually languid. When Akihito approached closer, he understood why. Fei Long’s pupils were dilated, his fingers loosely gripping a still-smoking pipe.

“Akihito, so kind of you to join me,” Fei Long said, his voice slow and syrupy.

 _As if I had a choice_ , is what Akihito wanted to say, but Fei Long’s words from earlier made him bite his tongue for once. He needed to keep himself alive if Asami was going to have any chance of rescuing him. Instead of responding, he fiddled with the hem of the shirt he’d been forced to change into.

“You look good in Chinese clothing,” Fei Long continued. “Come, join me on the bed.”

Akihito turned, but the guard had already made his exit. It was just the two of them now, and Akihito briefly entertained the fantasy of overpowering Fei Long and making a break for it, but he had no doubt that Fei Long could kill him in a heartbeat regardless of his condition.

He inched his way towards the bed, reluctant to get too close, before shouting in surprise when Fei Long shot an arm out to drag him in. Landing almost on top of his captor, Akihito tried to steady himself. The hours he’d spent trapped in his room were filled in no small part with worrisome speculations of what Fei Long planned to do to him, what “pleasing him” could mean.

A strong gloved hand came to grip Akihito’s jaw, tracing the line of his face and slipping leather-encased fingers in and out of his mouth, still slack with surprise. Akihito held his breath as Fei Long leaned in to look at him with cat-like eyes.

“I suppose I can see the charm Asami finds in you,” Fei Long whispered in his ear, sending shivers down Akihito’s spine.

With deft hands, Akihito’s top was being unbuttoned and pushed off, impersonal hands traveling over his torso. Fei Long hovered his fingers over the scar from the bullet wound on his right arm, still a raw pink. “He wasn’t diligent enough to save you from this, was he?”

“Hands off of me you perv!” Akihito shouted, finally finding his voice.

Akihito tried to shove his hands away in a panic, but Fei Long pinned his arms down without breaking a sweat. “Be good, Akihito. I could just as well sell you off to some man who likes to fuck skinny boys like you. He’d get you hooked on drugs, use you as a sex slave - you’d forget your Imprint in no time.”

Short, frantic breaths came out of Akihito’s mouth as Fei Long rose up to unbutton his pants. Gripping Akihito’s hair in a painful fist, Fei Long forced him towards his exposed cock, smearing precum along Akihito’s cheek.

“Why don’t you show me what Asami has taught you, hm?”

Fei Long forced him down too fast, choking him. Akihito could only manage a few pitiful sucks, most of his attention spent just trying to find air. His body was frozen in terror, his face wet with tears that he couldn’t control. The act felt cold and detached; nothing like the few times he’d done this for Asami. He couldn’t even retreat into those memories for fear of tainting them forever.

Just as quickly as it started, Fei Long hit him over the head with his pipe, wrenching him off of his cock with his other hand. “You’re terrible at this. I don’t feel anything,” Fei Long said.

The man examined Akihito’s wrecked features, his eyes still leaking even as he tried to stop himself from crying over such abuse. He couldn’t help it - Akihito was so very tired of trying to be brave.

“Crying doesn’t turn me on,” Fei Long sneered, tossing Akihito to the side of the bed. Akihito weakly groped the sheets for his discarded shirt, holding it in front of his body like it could preserve his modesty.

“If you can’t get me off, you can keep me company while I smoke.”

Fei Long slipped the pipe into Akihito’s unsuspecting mouth, forcing him to inhale deeply. Akihito coughed from the smoke and tried to move towards the edge of the bed, still in fear that Fei Long would change his mind and jump him at any moment.

Akihito watched Fei Long continue to puff, looking nonchalant about the fact that he’d just tried to assault him and they were still lying half-naked next to each other. Fei Long’s shirt was half unbuttoned now, the rumpled look in deep contrast to how he’d looked exiting the club that night with Asami. He was still mysteriously wearing the leather gloves Akihito had yet to see him without.

Starting to feel sluggish and dazed from the opium, Akihito hazarded to ask, “Why do you never take off those gloves?”

Fei Long paused for long enough that Akihito feared he’d hit a nerve and would be tossed out of the room, or worse. “I suppose it doesn’t matter around you, considering you’re already Imprinted.”

Fei Long went quiet again, his eyes unfocused as he peered into the darkness of the room as if looking for someone. When Fei Long began to speak, his voice was distant, like he was telling a story that had been passed down to him from someone else.

“My older brother was insane. He was under delusions that he had a one-sided Imprint with me, and that if he tried hard enough, he could force the bond to be reciprocated.”

Akihito listened with growing horror as Fei Long continued, “When his efforts to force a reciprocal bond kept failing, he insisted I wear gloves around everyone other than him because he couldn’t stand the possibility that a stranger, or even one of our men, might touch my hand in passing and trigger an Imprint.”

Fei Long went silent for a moment, taking another deep inhale from his pipe. “And then Asami killed him, and my Father, and left me for dead.”

Akihito didn’t want to touch that last statement with a ten-foot pole. “Wh-why do you still wear them then?” Akihito asked.

“After being released from prison, I realized that I never wanted even the slightest chance of meeting my Imprint. If just the thought could drive my brother insane, what would the real thing do to me? Just look at Asami. He’s preparing right now, against all rational thought, to throw away his whole life, his whole empire, to walk into enemy territory and take you back.”

Akihito’s stomach churned at the thought of Asami getting killed because of him. It would be just as well to have Fei Long shoot him too; the agony of losing his Imprint would be worse.

“Is it worth it? Trying to get revenge, I mean. Will it really make you happy in the end?” Akihito asked.

Fei Long seemed to consider this in earnest for a moment.

“My own happiness is meaningless. It is my duty to avenge my father,” Fei Long said.

Akihito felt a deep sadness for Fei Long, regardless of his own mistreatment at Fei Long’s hands. “You deserve happiness too.”

Fei Long turned a curious eye to him. “You’re an odd one, Akihito, trying to comfort a man who just tried to rape you.”

Akihito shrugged, thrown off guard by the sudden memory that his own first time with Asami had been violent, more-or-less rape regardless of what had come between them after. “You crime lords are all the same, trying to hide your emotions with violence. Not everything you want in life can be taken by force.”

“Wise words from a brat.”

* * *

Kirishima didn’t scare easily. Consider it a prerequisite for his line of work.

Even so, Kirishima’s hands were slick with sweat where they gripped the black leather handle of the briefcase.

“How is he?” Kirishima asked. The words came out of his mouth, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

Suoh tilted his head to the side in what meant something anywhere in between _he broke his hand by punching through another wall_ and _multiple people are going to be dead in the next 24 hours_.

Kirishima grimaced. Suoh unkindly opened the door to Asami’s office for him, removing any excuse to continue lingering outside.

An ashtray overflowing with cigarette stubs sat on Asami’s table, the man in question already pulling a new cigarette from his pack. His boss was back to chain-smoking, never a good sign. Kirishima instinctively moved forward, pulling a lighter from his pocket before Asami had the chance.

Asami nodded in acknowledgement as the cig was lit, motioning to the briefcase in Kirishima’s other hand.

“Is that the casino deed?” Asami asked.

“Yes, Asami-sama, Yoh delivered it earlier today,” Kirishima replied.

“Did he report Akihito’s status?”

“He’s alive and seemingly unharmed.” The tail end “for now” went unspoken.

“Time to give Fei Long a call then.” Asami’s voice was steel, the same voice he used to extract confessions from rats and force competitors into deals that would be their downfall.

Kirishima ducked out of the room with another bow. Asami didn’t need him to stick around for the threats he would present to Fei Long, and Kirishima had other duties - preparing the private jet, securing men and weapons, praying his boss would keep his cool long enough for them to escape unscathed.

He wasn’t a religious man by any means, but if Akihito was in any way harmed, all hell would break loose. By this point, Kirishima didn’t think Asami, and by extension their organization, would survive it. And even though he wanted to hate the kid for all the trouble that he’d caused since their Imprint was discovered, he had grown to like Akihito. The kid was honest and pure. He hardly deserved the shitty hand he’d been dealt by the universe when a well-intentioned action had sealed his fate and tied him to Asami.

Kirishima often wondered how he hadn’t seen it earlier. Despite the time that had passed, and the briefness of the encounter, the details from that night were seared in his mind. Mostly these details involved the unprecedented terror he felt upon arriving at the alley and thinking he was about to be responsible for the death of his boss, and near-friend. However, he had also been mildly surprised when the caller turned out to be no more than a kid; one who sized him up as he approached like he was willing to fight a grown (and armed) man to protect a stranger’s life.

Akihito’s spirit hadn’t changed, even after re-meeting Asami, and now Kirishima could only hope Hong Kong would not be the thing to break him.

* * *

Naturally, Akihito was unable to stay out of trouble.

For reasons beyond his comprehension, he’d been dragged out of his room by the unreadable guard from the day before and stationed in a large conference room full of Fei Long’s men. The Baishe head sat at the front, giving a long-winded speech about honor and betrayal (or at least that much Akihito had guessed, his Cantonese knowledge was non-existent) that Akihito assumed meant some of his men were about to be in deep shit.

Even the kid that had delivered (stolen) his food was there, standing beside Akihito at the back of the room. Akihito assumed he was Fei Long’s protege. Either way, the kid kept giving him dirty looks, as if Akihito was personally responsible for whatever nonsense was currently going on.

Akihito was tuning the ordeal out, still trapped in his own thoughts, although he appreciated the chance to be in a room larger than 2 x 2 meter closet. His memory and sense of time were fuzzy from being alternately passed out, drugged, and stuck in windowless rooms, but Akihito thought that a few days had gone by already since he’d arrived in Hong Kong.

Every moment he liked to fantasize that Asami would come barrelling through the door, guns blazing, but his doubt was growing. Someone should have come for him by now. He didn’t seem to be in immediate danger, spending most of his day locked up with the occasional trip to “keep Fei Long company”, an act which mostly entailed lying by the man’s side as he smoked, the sexual edge gone since the first night. Their time together was now almost companionable, the two of them talking about meaningless things and carefully skirting around discussing Asami or Fei Long’s history. Akihito suspected Fei Long was deeply lonely, starved for conversation that wasn’t about business or didn’t have to be sanitized for a child’s ears.

Still, Akihito was a stranger in a strange land, surrounded by men who always looked to varying degrees like they would take great pleasure in shooting him.

Speaking of, one of Fei Long’s men standing near him looked twitchy. His hand kept nervously going to the handle of the gun stuffed down the back of his pants before returning to his side.

Akihito had a bad feeling about this.

Sure enough, something in Fei Long’s words triggered the man - lightning quick - to grab the boy next to Akihito, putting the gun to his head and yelling as he dragged him like a tiny shield towards the door.

Akihito reacted on pure instinct. He tackled the larger man, trying to shove the gun out of his hand. The man hardly budged, but the shock made him loosen his grip enough for the kid to kick him in the groin and dive out of the way. Akihito cried out in pain as the man backhanded him hard, knocking him backwards to crash into the pedestal of a large vase that smashed over the side of his head.

When he opened his eyes, disoriented and dizzy from impact, the barrel of a gun was pointed at his face. A sensation of horrible dread and deja vu washed over Akihito as he wondered whether he’d be killed before ever seeing Asami again.

He never had the chance to tell his Imprint any of the things that mattered, like that he cared for him, possibly loved him; that he would fulfill any number of Asami’s sexy housewife fantasies if it meant being able return home and stay by his side.

Two shots rang out and Akihito closed his eyes, preparing to feel the burning pain of the bullet like that day he’d gotten shot outside of the garage. When it never came, he opened them to find his guard from earlier standing in front of him, clutching a bloody shoulder, and the assailant groaning on the ground from a bullet to the knee.

From there, Akihito let himself give in to the worryingly-familiar sensation of passing out.

* * *

Fei Long visited Tao first. The young boy was mostly unharmed - slightly bruised from where the traitor had gripped his arm too hard and scuffed up from diving on to the hard floor. Fei Long carefully kissed the bandages at Tao’s request. Tao’s eyes had shown with love, as if Fei Long had given him a great gift instead of failing him spectacularly.

He went to visit Akihito next. The photographer looked small seated on the hospital bed with his head carefully wrapped. He’d only briefly lost consciousness and was now listening carefully as the doctor finished speaking to him in Japanese about the dangers of a possible concussion. When Akihito spotted Fei Long in the doorway, he perked up.

“Is the kid okay?” Akihito asked.

“Tao is fine,” Fei Long replied. “You can go see him after this. I think he wants to thank you, stupid as your actions were.”

Akihito’s face fell. “I can’t believe someone would so easily try to shoot a child.”

“If Yoh hadn’t acted, you would have been the one shot. Why did you try to intervene? There were plenty of other people who could have done something. You had nothing to gain,” Fei Long said.

“I don’t make these decisions based on what I stand to lose or gain! I saw an innocent kid in danger and I moved on instinct. I’m not cold and calculating like you. You’re so calm even when people are hurt in front of you, it’s like you have no feelings,” Akihito replied.

The truth was that Fei Long felt too much, most of the time. He tried to suppress it because in his experience things like feelings and emotions got you eaten alive, or thrown in prison, and he liked to think he’d learned that lesson already.

To his own surprise, he told the truth: “I am the same as you, Akihito. There’s no way I can remain calm, I am a person who moves on emotions. It’s just that I do things differently than you. You must know, I do not tolerate those who betray me. No one.”

“Yeah, what was all of that about earlier?”

Fei Long hardly wanted to lay out the nightmare his day had become. His father’s casino deed had been stolen from under his nose, he’d nearly gotten Tao shot, and there was still a mole in his organization that he had yet to flush out.

“Something very important was stolen from me, but the man who tried to take Tao and his other accomplices were not the main perpetrators. They’d been manipulated into stealing a fake and bought the real thief enough time to deliver the genuine artifact to Asami.”

Akihito jumped at the name. “Asami? Have you talked to him?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Asami seems hell bent on getting you back, considering the dangerous lengths he went to in order to steal from me. He intends to get a hold of my weakness and threaten me, but I will not bow to that.” Fei Long would die before being manipulated by Asami again.

“You two are unbelievable. Why do you have to go to such lengths to hurt each other? And for no reason! Kidnapping me won’t even get you any closer to closure.”

Before today, Fei Long would have slapped the insolence out of Akihito. Instead, he folded his arms over each other and took a measured exhale. Crass as Akihito was, he put his life at risk for the sake of trying to protect a boy he hardly knew. Even in enemy territory, abused and threatened, Akihito couldn’t help but do what was right in his eyes.

“Perhaps you’re correct. I don’t know what I was trying to accomplish by going to Japan. When I heard Asami had taken on a lover, I had to go see it for myself. And then when I realized he’d Imprinted, I couldn’t take it. Why should he get to find happiness while the rest of us don’t? What gives him the right? I will drag him down with me to hell if that’s what it takes,” Fei Long said.

To his shock, Akihito was suddenly crying; big, angry drops falling into his lap. Fei Long was at a loss for words as Akihito shouted, “Why are you taking a path that will only harm you? What’s the point? That really pisses me off!”

“Akihito, why are you crying?”

“I don’t understand you! You have people who care about you! What will Tao do if you get hurt? You won’t deal with what’s really troubling you, so you take the coward’s way out thinking that killing Asami in revenge will solve all of your problems. If you were my friend, I would’ve punched you by now!”

Akihito’s words did feel like a punch to the gut, especially when Fei Long realized Akihito was crying for him, not out of concern for Asami. Few, outside of Tao, would ever shed a tear for him.

“I’ve done terrible things to you. Yet, you would still weep for me like this?” Fei Long asked, dumbfounded.

Akihito wiped at his face, only succeeding in further wetting his cheeks with tears. “Don’t get it twisted, these are angry tears!”

“I wish I had met you before Asami. You’ll never do anything to betray anyone. Perhaps in another life you could have been happy by my side,” Fei Long said, producing a handkerchief to hand Akihito and wincing at the sound of him obnoxiously blowing his nose.

“It’s all moot, anyway,” Fei Long continued. He turned away from Akihito, no longer able to stand the earnest worry on his splotchy face. “I agreed to a trade with Asami. Soon, you’ll be back in Japan, and this will all be another distant memory.”

“I don’t want to go back to Japan if it means giving you and Asami the chance to shoot each other,” Akihito said.

Fei Long paused. It would be so tempting to try to keep him; both to spite Asami, and to have someone other than Tao by his side. His was a dangerous and isolating business, and for what might be the second time in his life, he craved the simple security an Imprint bond promised (he would never reveal, even under pain of death, his young, misguided fantasies that Asami could be his Imprint). To have someone fated to be his perfect match, who would be almost biologically incapable of betraying him - it was a seductive proposition, ludicrous as the business of Imprinting was.

“I’m not sure that decision is in your hands,” Fei Long finally said.

Seeing Akihito’s glare, he amended, “Asami has nothing to be concerned about as long as he upholds his end of the bargain.”

He would hardly hesitate to take action if Asami mistepped, but he could now concede to himself that his obsession had gone too far. He would return Akihito and move on from this chapter of his life.

* * *

“He’s trading a Japanese hostage for the real deed?”

Mikhail settled back in his chair, thoughts racing through his mind. He’d spent months trying to get his hands on that deed, only managing to get a fake, and Asami had swooped in and stolen the real thing like it was nothing.

“Who is this Takaba anyway? How is he so valuable that he’s worth being traded for a deed to a casino that brings in several hundred million dollars in profits?” Mikhail asked.

“He seems to be Asami’s ‘mistress’, although there’s rumors Asami Imprinted on him,” his aide responded.

“Fei Long would really go as far as to steal Asami Ryuichi’s Imprint?”

In Asami's defense, people had thrown away far more valuable things than a casino deed for the sake of their Imprints. Still, he couldn’t believe Fei Long was stuck on Asami after all of these years, enough to go after his Imprinted.

“Perhaps it’s time to pay Hong Kong a visit.”

* * *

Akihito expected an abandoned warehouse for the trade-off, at best a properly sinister looking dock. He should have known Fei Long couldn’t content himself with such banal locations. Instead, he found himself standing on unsteady sea legs, gaping at the interior of a luxury cruise ship. Part of him wanted to marvel at his surroundings and laugh at Fei Long’s theatrics. The bigger part of him wanted to tremble out of his own skin in anxiety.

“Asami will board this casino cruise ship via a smaller ship. Akihito, at the same time that you board Asami’s ship, we will exchange the deed.”

“That’s it, no shootout?” Akihito asked.

“That won’t happen as long as Asami doesn’t pull any tricks. This is my ship. I have no intention of doing anything further that won’t benefit me.”

Fei Long sounded genuine enough, but Akihito remained wary. Asami would be at a disadvantage by walking on an enemy ship surrounded by the water and with no easy escape route. If there was a shootout, Akihito doubted either of them would make it off the ship alive.

“Akihito, there’s no need to be tense. I have no intention of harming you anymore, that’s why I agreed to this exchange,” Fei Long said.

Akihito wanted to believe Fei Long had warmed to him, but these underground types always had something up their sleeves, plotting away behind their empty smiles.

Two men knocked on the door, startling Akihito. They exchanged rapid fire Cantonese before Fei Long stood up expectantly.

“It’s time to say goodbye, Akihito,” Fei Long said.

Fei Long wasn’t going to meet directly with Asami? Akihito was faintly relieved, even as he found himself being pulled out of the room by the two foreign guards. He wondered at the quickness of it all. In just a few minutes, he would be back in Asami’s arms. All of this nightmare could finally be forgotten.

Pushed into the elevator, his heart almost jumped out of his chest when he saw Asami standing in the lobby. His Imprint was a sight for sore eyes in his well-fitted suit. Unthinking, Akihito pounded on the glass with his fists, desperate to get Asami to look up.

One of the men roughly pulled him back by his neck, muttering in discontent to the other in Cantonese. Akihito didn't pay them any attention. He could see the floor numbers counting down to his freedom, only a few more floors to go...

He nearly screamed when he heard a muffled shot go off behind him. His brain couldn’t process what his eyes were seeing as one of the guards collapsed, blood blooming across his shirt. The other guard slammed his hand on the emergency elevator button and yanked him out on the fifth floor.

“Let go of me! Where are you going?!” Akihito yelled, trying to pry his arm out of the man’s grip. He’d been so close to Asami, the man was right there in front of him!

The cold muzzle of a gun was pressed to Akihito’s cheek, making him freeze, but at this point he was done with being threatened. He screamed Asami’s name as loud as he could, the sound echoing down the hallways of the ship.

* * *

Asami’s guard was up as soon as they walked on deck. He was truly flying blind since he’d lost all contact with Yoh after retrieving the briefcase. The man had too much honor to snitch, but Fei Long had likely already uncovered that he was a traitor to the Baishe. Yoh was as good as dead now.

Kirishima had fiercely opposed agreeing to do the swap on a ship, but Asami had no choice. Akihito had already been trapped in Hong Kong for too long. Asami was almost scared of what he would find when he had Akihito back in his arms. Fei Long had a deceiving capacity for cruelty, and he’d honed his ways after crawling to the top and leading the Baishe for years.

Hearing his lover’s scream, Asami’s blood went cold. He barked orders to Kirishima and Suoh to have their men fan out before he took off running down one of the ship’s hallways towards the sound.

He couldn't find Akihito, but he did finally track Fei Long down and put a gun to the back of his head. In that moment, the only thing stopping him from pulling the trigger was his urgent need to be reunited with his Imprint. He forced Fei Long into one of the empty VIP rooms, slamming the man into the ground.

“What did you do with Takaba? Bring him here now,” he demanded.

Asami could feel Fei Long tense beneath him. “I don’t know. It seems someone took him away, were you not behind that?”

Something was wrong. His momentary confusion made Asami release his grip enough for Fei Long to roughly elbow him in the gut and scurry away, dodging his shots.

Asami cursed himself. This wasn’t the time for distraction. If he kept faltering at the thought of Akihito being harmed, they would both be killed before ever making it back to Japan.

“To tell you the truth, I’m surprised you Imprinted. I thought you would consider yourself above such things,” Fei Long said, his voice carrying from across the room.

“I think you’ll find no one is above it, although I see you still wear those ridiculous gloves. When will you abandon the pain your brother caused you?” Asami said.

“The pain my brother caused me?” Fei Long screeched. “What about the pain you caused me when you shot my father and left me to rot in jail?”

“You still blame me for that mess from seven years ago? No matter what I say, you won’t believe me, and you won’t find rest.”

Fei Long scoffed. “You should have shot me to death then. You could have avoided this whole mess if you’d just pulled the trigger.”

“I’ll do that right now if need be. I’m tired of taking the blame for your old man and dealing with your unwarranted vengeance. Worse, you're no different from a street gang using Akihito as a shield.”

Asami knew his words would infuriate Fei Long and drive him out of his hiding spot. As the Baishe head prattled on about Asami’s betrayal, he snuck up behind him and shot the gun out of Fei Long’s hands.

They ended up scuffling on the floor, grappling at each other in a manner far beneath them. Asami let Fei Long flip himself on top, knowing the other man had no weapons to hurt him with. The two of them needed to end this now. Asami couldn’t afford for his twisted relationship with Fei Long to come back to haunt him again, or for it to put Akihito in danger anymore than it already had.

“Why didn’t you just let me die? Did you want me to live out my years hating you, and myself, for what you did?” Fei Long asked, his voice shaking with intensity.

“I didn’t want to let you die. You restored the Baishe, just as I expected of you, and I honestly thought you would move on with your life. If you want to dwell in hate by thinking about the past, that’s on you. You can kill me now, but you won’t be satisfied.”

“Don’t talk like you know me!” Fei Long shouted, his hands unsteadily going to grip the lapels of Asami’s suit. “You have no idea what I went through, what you did to me!”

“What did I do, other than free you from under your brother’s thumb? Would you be the head of a successful Baishe today if I hadn’t acted? Your father is dead, and you have mourned him for long enough. If you want anyone’s comfort or approval, it’ll have to come from yourself. Stop blaming others for your own insecurities.”

Asami held Fei Long’s gaze with unwavering eyes. He didn’t know what Fei Long saw reflected in them, but the man seemed to make a decision as he pushed himself to his feet and brushed himself off.

“Akihito is too good for you. I’m going to go search for him. We can talk after I find him,” Fei Long said, retrieving his gun from the floor and walking away.

Asami wondered what Akihito could have possibly done within the few days he’d been a captive to win Fei Long’s sympathies.

* * *

_Fucking Russians_ , Akihito thought. He should have expected it, really. At this point it was just another meaningless absurdity in the tragedy that had become his life. Next, the Sicilian mafia would come crawling out of the woodwork and start shooting at him.

He weakly clutched the gun he’d stolen off of his guard and ran down one of the ship’s many identical-looking hallways, his ribs screaming in protest. The Russians had roughed him up after he’d been dragged kicking and shouting out of the elevator and thrown into a suite. He had a feeling his ribs were bruised, if not worse, and his adrenaline was drowning out any other pain.

The Russians had underestimated him. After the group had their fun beating him, he’d been tied up and left with a single blonde guard standing watch. After babbling about needing to take a leak, lest he piss all over the mattress, he convinced the guard to untie his legs so he could go to the bathroom and then brained him over the head with the toilet cover, of all things. Then he’d had to waste precious time sawing through the rope binding his hands with hotel clippers and tying up his unconscious guard.

Taking the gun had been an afterthought. He knew how to use a gun, in theory. Just point and shoot, right? Either way, he couldn’t handle the thought of facing another gun in his face without any defenses of his own. Akihito prayed he wouldn’t have to use it, but at this point he would shoot anyone who stood in the way of him getting to Asami.

At this rate, it didn’t feel like he would ever be able to find Asami. Akihito had been running for what felt like forever, but his Imprint could be on any of 16 decks and the rooms and hallways on each level were endless. So far he hadn’t run into any hostiles, just a few gobsmacked tourists who stared at his disheveled appearance and the gun in his hands, but he didn’t expect his luck to hold on for much longer.

He turned a corner and yelped when he saw the guard (Yoh?) that had taken a bullet for him the day before leaned against a wall, looking incredibly worse for wear. His face was bruised and bleeding and it seemed like the wall was the only thing keeping him upright. Most alarmingly, he had his gun in his hands. Akihito made to turn around when the guard cried out, "Asami's at the stern!"

Akihito faced him again. "You work for Asami?"

The man nodded. "I stole the deed for him."

Akihito quickly approached him. "Did Fei Long do this to you? We need to get you help!"

Yoh shook his head, slumping even further. "There's no time, you need to find Asami and get out of here. I will face Fei Long and the consequences of my actions. Tell Asami not to worry about me."

The look in his eyes was one Akihito recognized. With grim acceptance, Akihito left him behind to run for the back of the ship.

Bursting through a pair of double doors, he found himself on a balcony peering two stories over the open deck of the stern. He could see three figures below, Asami among them, engaged in what looked like a Mexican standoff. Asami had his gun pointed at one of the Russians, his other hand clutching a briefcase; the Russian had his gun pointed at Asami; Fei Long had a gun in each hands, one pointed at each of the other two.

It would almost be a darkly hilarious scene if it wasn’t for the shadow Akihito could spot creeping along the side of the railing behind Asami - one of the cruel-eyed Russians that had taken particular pleasure in kicking Akihito while he’d been tied up. None of the three seemed to take notice, still in a heated argument with their guns trained on each other. The second Russian was raising his gun to aim at Asami’s back and Akihito could hardly breath because Asami wasn’t going to react in time and --

* * *

Asami didn’t believe Mikhail for a second.

“Where is Takaba?” Asami demanded.

“Hand the deed over and I’ll bring him out,” Mikhail responded coolly.

 _Fucking Russians_ , Asami thought. As if Fei Long wasn’t enough to deal with.

Speak of the devil, Fei Long’s voice echoed over the deck, “That deed you two are negotiating over rightfully belongs to me.” His guns were out and pointed at both of them, adding a third party to their stalemate.

Asami tightened his grip on his gun.

“I’m going to find Takaba and take him off this ship. If that can’t be done, then I’ll blow a hole right through both of your heads and turn this place into a graveyard,” Asami said.

“‘Find’ being the operative word,” Mikhail replied. “If you hand over that deed, I’ll direct you to where he is and you can be on your merry way.”

“Like hell. You shouldn’t even be on my ship. The only one walking away with that deed is me,” Fei Long said.

“Oh I’d return it to you eventually. In exchange for a few favors, of course,” Mikhail said, turning to Fei Long with a lecherous grin.

Asami’s face didn’t change, but internally his patience was dimming. Akihito was captive somewhere on this godforsaken ship, and the Russians were even more of a wildcard than Fei Long. There was no guarantee he wasn’t already dead.

For just a moment, he let himself hope that all of the magic Imprinting bullshit was true, that Akihito could feel his emotions or hear his thoughts through their bond. That he could sense Asami saying, _I’m coming for you_ , and would hang on for just a little while longer.

When a gunshot went off and Fei Long collapsed to his knees, Asami jerked back in surprise. Neither him nor Mikhail had fired. He looked behind him to where the shot had come from just in time to see another Russian shooter topple over the railing of the ship, down into the waters below.

“Asami!”

He could cry at the sound of that voice.

Looking up at the balconies above them, Asami could see Akihito’s figure trembling, a gun shaky in his hands. It was enough to extrapolate what had happened - someone had been about to take him out from behind and Akihito, his wonderful, very alive Imprint, had not only managed to escape his captors, but also found him first and shot to protect him. His would be killer’s shot had gone wide and winged Fei Long.

Asami couldn’t care less about Fei Long or Mikhail anymore. He tossed the briefcase to the floor between them. “Sort this out yourselves.”

“Asami! How do I get down to you?” Akihito yelled.

“Jump! I’ll catch you!”

Without hesitation, Akihito threw his gun aside and climbed over the balcony railing, his feet pushing off as he flew through the air. It was like seeing their first meeting from the other side - Akihito’s features were just as fearless and determined as they were when he jumped from that rooftop - and Asami was filled with an indescribable flood of emotion as the weight of his Imprint landed in his arms.

Akihito’s hands clung to his chest, patting his body as if reassuring himself that Asami was real. When he looked up, his lashes were wet, his eyes big as they stared into Asami’s.

“You’re here, you’re really here. I was waiting for you!” Akihito said, his voice cracking in disbelief.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. You knew that I was coming for you, right?” Asami couldn’t bear the vulnerable look on his Imprint’s face, like he didn’t think Asami was really holding him. Like he feared Asami wouldn’t come for him.

Asami set Akihito to his feet, propping him up with alarm when Akihito hunched over in pain and clutched his midsection.

“If you didn’t, I’d never forgive you! Take some responsibility for Imprinting on me, you jerk!”

“I will. I will for the rest of my life,” Asami said seriously, swooping Akihito back into his arms when it became apparent he had serious injuries.

His words softened Akihito, who couldn't even protest being carried like a princess. “Take me home, Asami,” Akihito said, turning his head into Asami’s chest and bringing his arms to rest around his neck.

Asami looked over to Fei Long and Mikhail, both of whom were oddly frozen in place. Mikhail had dropped the briefcase at his feet, one of his hands on Fei Long’s side where he’d been grazed.

Well. Neither of them had their guns pointed at Asami or Akihito, so it was time for them to make a hasty retreat.

“Let’s go home.”

* * *

Fei Long’s ears wouldn’t stop ringing. It wasn’t from the gunshot, he couldn’t even feel the pain from where the bullet had grazed his side. In fact, he couldn’t feel any pain at all. Only the warmth of Mikhail’s hand on the bare skin where the bullet had torn through his shirt; warmth which seemed to radiate through the rest of his body in waves. Delusionally, he found himself thinking that he never wanted Mikhail to _not_ be touching him if this was how it felt.

Mikhail looked wrecked, the perpetually smug smile wiped off his face and replaced by something that looked like...reverence?

Fei Long’s brain was starting to come back online, but he still couldn’t bring himself to do anything he should be - like pushing Mikhail away or shooting him in the skull and escaping with the deed. Instead he brought a hand up to rest over the fingers Mikhail already had on his skin, the secondary touch points sending another wave of sensation through him. He could see Mikhail shudder at the contact.

“You?”

“Me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Kidnapping, Violence, Brief non-consensual blowjob 
> 
> As always, please leave your comments if you enjoyed this chapter! I often get too overwhelmed/shy to reply, but I read and cherish every one of them!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check the end notes for this chapter's warnings. Feel free to comment if I missed any warnings or if you want more detailed explanations on what to safely skip over.

After disembarking from Fei Long’s ship, Akihito and Asami were shuffled through a chain of vehicles that Akihito couldn’t pay much mind to because the entire time all he could think about was how Asami was finally in front of him, in the flesh. He refused to let go of him, even when the doctor Asami had the foresight to bring along made noise about examining his ribs for fractures. 

In the end, the doctor relented to Akihito holding Asami’s hand through the exam like a teenager while he prodded Akihito’s ribs - only bruised in the end - and bandaged a few other assorted bleeding scrapes he’d accumulated like a human punch card. Asami looked murderous upon seeing them. He was two-seconds away from turning their private jet around and putting a bullet in the Russian’s head before Akihito told him in no uncertain terms, and with only mild exaggeration, that he never wanted to see another gun in his life. 

Saying that made it all real. Akihito wanted to crawl into a ball and bury himself in a hole thinking about what he’d done. 

He’d killed a man. Shot, to be specific, but the guy probably wasn’t alive after a bullet to the chest and a dip in the ocean. The thought made Akihito start to shake in his seat. 

“What are you thinking about?” Asami whispered in his ear. His Imprint had been strangely reserved since leaving Fei Long’s ship, content to let Akihito lean against his chest and have Kirishima deal with whatever mess had been left behind in their wake. 

Akihito didn’t want to appear weak in front of Asami. Still, he was too tired and relieved to be anything other than honest. 

“I never imagined I would get caught up in something like this, even chasing after cases with my camera for years. I’ve now been shot...and shot someone myself. People were killed right before my eyes. And all this time all I could do was pray for you to hurry up and save me. I was so scared, I didn’t even know if you’d come or not. All I could think about was you.” 

Asami’s grip tightened on his hand, his eyes serious as he held Akihito’s gaze. “I will always come for you. I will follow you to the end of the abyss.” 

Akihito tried to pull back but Asami’s body followed his. “I don’t want to be a liability for you. I know you put your life at risk trying to get me back. It’s like you said, people like Fei Long will always try to use me against you.”

“I won’t let them. I’m not letting you go, if that’s what you’re thinking. And by my count, you’ve saved my life more times than I’ve saved yours,” Asami said, holding Akihito closer to his side. 

Akihito smiled at that. “You owe me, then.”

“I’m sure I’ll spend the rest of my life repaying this debt.” 

Akihito faltered. Fei Long’s words echoed in his mind. “Do you think Fei Long will be okay?” 

“You’re worried about Fei Long?” Asami asked. “He’ll be fine, he’ll survive as he always does.” 

“He won’t come after us, will he?”

“I think he’s learned his lesson this time.”

“Will you tell me one day what happened between the two of you?” Akihito asked. 

“One day, soon, but not tonight. You should try to get some sleep.”

Sleeping was the last thing Akihito wanted to do. If he closed his eyes, he feared he would wake up back in Hong Kong, trapped in the same cramped, windowless room. He wouldn’t be able to handle it if Asami coming for him was all a dream. Or worse, if he’d been shot and killed already and was now trapped in some sort of twisted afterlife. 

“Will you be here when I wake up?” Akihito asked. He waited in fear for Asami to ridicule his behavior, but Asami merely nodded. 

“I’m not leaving your side,” Asami said, sliding Akihito across the leather seats of the jet until his head was cushioned in the man’s lap. 

“Sleep,” Asami said, and so Akihito did. 

* * *

Asami did not, in fact, take them home. 

When Akihito jerked awake from a sleep so deep he had missed getting transferred off of the jet and snuck through security, he was clearly not in the penthouse. The sheets weren’t soft enough, the ceiling was the wrong color, and it sounded like there were waves right outside their door. He started to panic, sure that someone else had managed to kidnap him and take him away, before Asami’s hand shot out to catch his arm.

“Akihito, you’re safe,” Asami said. 

“Where the hell am I, you bastard? I thought we were going back to Japan!” Akihito slapped Asami’s shoulder, then immediately regretted it. His Imprint wasn’t wearing a shirt and it had been far too long since he’d had a view of Asami’s sculpted chest. 

“We’re taking a vacation, just until my men set up the necessary infrastructure in Tokyo so that nothing like this ever happens again.”

It was hard for Akihito to protest that, but he was still angry. A person could only wake up in a new, unexpected foreign place so many times before they lost it. “Answer the question!”

“We’re on a property I own in Bali,” Asami replied. “Go take a look outside.” 

Akihito huffed, noting Asami had changed him out of Fei Long’s clothes and into something resembling what he would normally wear - a soft cotton T-shirt and regular boxers. 

“Where are my pants?” Akihito demanded. 

“There’s no one else around for half a mile, just open the door.”

Akihito’s curiosity won out in the end. He padded barefoot to the door of their room, opening it to find himself surrounded by large palm trees and the sound of tropical birds. There were other rooms attached to the one he emerged from to form a semi-circle around a large deck and a pool. Wooden stairs led down to a sandy beach and glittering blue waters, extending in either direction for what looked like miles. Asami was correct. There were no signs of other man-made structures anywhere near their villa, only the beach in front of them and a wooded area behind them. The postcard beauty of it all looked fake after the days Akihito had spent staring at the same four chipped walls.

He could feel Asami’s presence come up behind him before he felt an arm sneak around his waist. 

“Like it?” Asami asked. 

“It’s beautiful. I wish I had a camera with me,” Akihito said. 

Asami held up a bag. “What, this?” 

Akihito decided Asami was forgiven for any of his previous transgressions. The camera inside the bag was a high quality digital he didn’t own, but given the circumstances he could understand why Asami hadn’t brought his most precious film camera to a hostage exchange. He adjusted the settings and took a few rapid-fire shots of Asami’s face before the man could react. 

“Am I a good model?” Asami asked, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Well, you won’t believe how long I’ve been waiting to get a photo of you that’s not from a telescope lens,” Akihito replied. He casually thumbed through the photo previews, thunderstruck by the look on Asami’s face in each. Encapsulated in the tiny pixels were the crinkle in the corner of his Imprint’s eyes, the gentle care in the lines of his cheeks. The look of a man in love. 

Akihito was startled out of his revelation by Asami’s hand coming to rest on the back of his neck. 

“Do you want to swim?”

“Hell yeah!”

* * *

When Kirishima handed him a phone and disappeared, Asami didn’t expect to hear Yoh’s voice on the other line. He was alive and respectfully asking to be released from Asami’s employment as he planned to stay in Hong Kong indefinitely. Asami readily agreed and extended a standing job offer should he ever return to Japan. He’d had suspicions for some time that Yoh felt something for Fei Long, but never made it a problem when Yoh demonstrated time and again that his first loyalties were towards Asami’s organization. 

Then Yoh revealed that Fei Long had Imprinted on Mikhail. 

It was likely the only reason he was still alive. The ensuing panic had left Fei Long little desire to deal with the minutiae of killing traitors, and if anything, Fei Long had seemingly accepted his change in loyalties. 

Asami laughed, somewhat hysterically, and hung up. He scrubbed a hand up and down his face in shock since there was no one else in the room to see him do so. 

Fei Long Imprinting on Arbatov was going to be a nightmare for Asami. It would tie the Baishe and Bratva together and turn them into a force to be reckoned with. Asami didn’t think Fei Long would go after him outright, but the two of them together could cause Asami’s business plenty of grief without staging a blatant attack. 

On the other hand, Imprinting was Fei Long’s worst nightmare. Imprinting on Mikhail, of all people, was just salt in the wound. Perhaps Asami would mail them an Imprinting gift - a tea set? Dinner plates? He was already smirking at the sheer indignation that would be on Fei Long’s face. 

“What’s that look on your face?” Akihito asked. He walked into the room with skin still glistening from a swim in the ocean, an unused towel in his hand. Asami had bowed out after enduring half-an-hour of Akihito splashing water at him. There was work to be done, enemies to put the fear of god into in case they got the same idea as Fei Long. 

Asami tried not to be affected by the sight of Akihito mostly naked and wet as he said, “Let’s have an Imprinting ceremony.”

Akihito looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “An Imprinting ceremony? I thought you said announcing our bond was too dangerous!”

“I think the cat’s out of the bag already considering the mess in Hong Kong. It’s only a matter of time before the news spreads,” Asami said. “Also, Fei Long’s Imprinted on Mikhail. Maybe it will make him think twice about going after someone else’s Imprint.” 

Akihito waited like he was expecting Asami to reveal a punchline. “What, are you kidding me? Mikhail, like the Russian dude? Like the one Fei Long was ready to shoot in the face?”

“I imagine it was quite a shock for Fei Long as well,” Asami said. 

Akihito draped his towel over his head, turning his head down to avoid Asami’s eyes. 

“An Imprinting ceremony...does this mean you’ll meet my friends? My parents? Does that mean we have to get registered?” 

“If you want.”

“But do you want those things?” Akihito’s face twitched miserably underneath his towel. 

“I would be honored to meet anyone you choose. And registering will be more difficult, but I’m sure there is no shortage of public servants I can bribe.” 

“Will your family be there?” 

Asami shook his head. “I have no family left.” 

Akihito’s eyes widened before he walked over to sit in Asami’s lap with a type of firm finality. Asami tried not to grimace at the water Akihito dripped onto Asami’s silk shirt. “Well, you have me, and I know Glasses and Blondie might as well be your family for how close the three of you are,” Akihito said, counting off his fingers. 

“You know their names, you only call them that to piss them off, don’t you?” Asami said. 

“That’s what I called them in my head the first time I saw them, so that’s what they will always be!” 

Akihito turned serious again. “You know, a ceremony is the real deal. As soon as I tell my parents, you won’t be able to go back.” 

Asami’s heart dipped a little. It seemed Akihito was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, or more accurately, for Asami to tire of him despite the strength of their Imprint. The fact that Akihito had doubted whether Asami would come for him in Hong Kong was unacceptable. Normally such insecurity in a partner would irritate Asami, but in Akihito it merely made him ache to erase his every concern. 

Asami reached into his pocket. His Imprint’s attitude visibly brightened as Asami pulled out the gold necklace he’d vowed to return to Akihito. 

“I thought this was lost forever!” 

Unlatching the clasp, Asami swung the chain around Akihito’s neck before taking out another small, velvet box. He flipped the lid open to reveal two traditional Imprint rings nestled side-by-side. The truth was he’d covertly bought the gold set at the same time as the necklace, preparing for some idealized future where he could publicly declare Akihito as his Imprint. It was a future Asami now realized he had the power to create for himself in the present. He would do far more, if necessary, to stop Akihito from doubting his rightful place by his side. Their ceremony would declare Asami’s bond to Akihito, and more importantly, serve as a warning to anyone who hoped to use Akihito to hurt him. 

Akihito ran a hesitant tip of a finger across the grooves of the mobius twist on the larger ring before removing it from the box and raising Asami’s hand. Ever so delicate, he slipped the gold band over Asami’s ring finger. Asami, in turn, settled the smaller ring firmly onto the base of Akihito’s finger. The silence of their actions felt sacred, holy. 

“Now we match,” Akihito smiled. 

Asami fit their hands together, the two rings clinking in harmony as they came to rest next to each other. 

* * *

Two days into their impromptu vacation and Akihito thought he was recovering well. He knew that’s what they were really in the tropics for; isolated from the responsibilities of the rest of the world. The doctor that treated him on the plane had quietly suggested he see a shrink upon returning to Japan before shelving the topic after Akihito threatened to throw himself out the window. Nevertheless, the man had probably mentioned his concerns to Asami, “blah, blah, blah - trauma - blah, blah, blah - psychotherapy.” 

If Asami tried to bring it up Akihito could at least call him a hypocrite. Akihito was sure Asami would rather die than have someone rummage around in his head, but to Asami’s credit, he didn’t push the issue. 

So Akihito was fine. Really. 

He was reunited with Asami. The restlessness and nausea from the strain on their bond had disappeared. In the past few days in paradise, he’d eaten his weight in barbecued meats and taken on a healthy tan from hours spent in the sun. 

It wasn’t until he tripped out of the shower one morning and looked at himself closely in the mirror that he realized his torso was now a patchwork of angry purple and red. He looked like a bad piece of modern art. Pressing down on a bruised spot under his collarbone made him hiss in pain when the skin screamed at the touch. 

Getting shot, getting kidnapped and drugged, getting kidnapped  _ again _ and bashed up, was this the rest of his life? Maybe it was. At Akihito’s age, Asami had been about to die in a back alley from a gunshot wound. Imprinted pairs were supposed to have extraordinary luck, but there was only so much luck one could depend on while navigating a dangerous world. What were his choices, exactly? A long, miserable life apart from his Imprint, or a happy, potentially too-short life with him? 

Akihito went for another swim in the pool to distract his mind from his own thoughts. Asami was increasingly drawn back into his work, often disappearing after meals to talk over papers with Kirishima, so Akihito was left to his own devices. 

The water was deliciously cool on his bruised skin. He dived deep under, shaking hair out of his field of vision and blinking away the faint sting of chlorine in his eyes. Akihito was fine, he was swimming and resolutely not thinking about Hong Kong, or the jolting impact from the backfire of the gun - the simultaneous dread and satisfaction of seeing a bullet connect with its target - the man falling backwards into the dark waters below and - 

And suddenly that was him, thrashing and choking on water. In a moment he went from swimming to being pulled under. The pool, three meters deep at most, felt depth-less as he continued to sink further and further down. Part of him knew there was nothing holding him back but his body couldn’t seem to figure it out, his brain screaming at unresponsive limbs to paddle upwards. His heart pounded with fear. He was losing oxygen fast, getting dizzy with it, when the water turned cloudy and tumultuous around him. 

The next thing Akihito knew, Asami was pumping hands over his already-bruised ribs. His back was pressed against the hard wood of the deck, blue sky spread out like a blanket above him. Someone was shouting his name over and over but it sounded far away, like he was hearing it through the distortion of the water. Maybe he was still in the pool and he was just imagining this. Maybe this time he was really dying. Drowning. 

* * *

“Where is Akihito today?”

Kirishima paused in the middle of pouring Asami a fresh cup of tea. 

“Still in bed, sir.”

It’d been days already since Akihito had nearly drowned. 

Asami folded up his newspaper. “Bring me a tray of food, will you? Akihito’s favorites.” 

True to Kirishima’s word, Akihito was still in bed, buried underneath the heavy duvet. He was awake but staring at nothingness, his eyes completely vacant. Asami was unsettled by his quietness. He’d expected some reaction after all that had happened to him, but his bet had been on Akihito lashing out rather than retreating within. It was easy to forget that Akihito had been mostly a regular person before Asami pulled him into his world. He still wasn’t used to the backstabbing and violence of the criminal underground. Although his Imprint put on a brave face, the cracks were beginning to show. 

“Hey, I brought all of the foods you like. Won’t you get up and eat something?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Don’t lie. You haven’t eaten, and that’s why you feel even more down. Shall I feed you?”

Akihito didn’t rise to the bait. “I’m not sick. If I want to eat, I’ll eat myself.”

Asami sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for more. 

“...It just turns out I’m a lot more pitiful than I thought. You can leave me on my own, I’ll be fine.”

“What’s haunting you, Akihito?”

“Nothing!” Akihito yelled. “I just can’t shake the feeling this is all a dream. Everytime I close my eyes, I think I’ll wake up somewhere else. Sometimes it’s a good dream, because you’re here and I’m safe and we’re in paradise, but sometimes it’s a bad one because I killed someone with my own two hands and I don’t know how to come back from that!” 

“It’s not a dream. You’re here right now because you are strong, and you survived, and no one can take that away from you. People have killed for less, and the fact that you feel guilt for taking a life means you still hold on to the same moral compass as before,” Asami said. 

Akihito looked unconvinced. Fine. He always accused Asami of trying to solve every problem with sex, but he couldn’t fault him for it if talking didn’t do the trick first. Besides, they’d hardly done anything since being reunited. Just a frantic session on their first day in Bali which had resulted in both of them coming in their pants like teens. 

Setting the food down next to the table, Asami flipped the covers off of Akihito and ignored his offended squawk. Akihito’s body was still littered with bruises. The Russians needed to pay for those, preferably three-fold. 

“Did Fei Long do anything to you in Hong Kong?” Asami asked. 

Akihito shook his head, but his eyes darted left in a classic tell that he was lying. Asami lightly gripped Akihito’s throat with one hand. He could feel the sudden jump in Akihito’s pulse, the bob of his Adam’s apple as Akihito swallowed. A gasp erupted from Akihito’s mouth, his eyes worriedly meeting Asami’s own. 

“Don’t lie to me, Akihito.”

Asami tightened the pressure by just a fraction, hardly enough to restrict airflow, but Akihito began to claw at his shirt in panic. “Ok, Ok! He tried to get me to suck him off, but he didn’t get very far! Nothing else happened,” Akihito admitted. 

“Shall I erase the taste of him from your mouth?” 

There were too many layers in the way. Akihito’s eyes went wider when Asami released his throat and impatiently ripped Akihito’s shirt off with both hands, belatedly realizing that it was in fact one of Asami’s own shirts, and wasn’t that even hotter? Some shuffling and Akihito’s pants and underwear were also gone, never to be seen again. Instead of protesting or fighting him, Akihito tugged on the collar of Asami’s button-up. 

“Off,” Akihito said. 

“Demanding, are we?”

Asami obligingly stepped off the bed to shuck his shirt off and step out of his own pants. Before he could remove his underwear, though, Akihito was in front of him, hands pawing through the fabric at Asami’s hardening cock. Akihito pulled Asami’s underwear down to reveal his rising length before falling down to his knees to mouth at the tip. 

The sensation could kill a lesser man. He hoped Akihito was telling the truth about Fei Long because if he had used Akihito like this, Asami would fly back to Hong Kong and put him down. Asami gripped Akihito’s soft hair, guiding him to take more. Akihito choked a little but gamely bobbed his head up and down, going deeper each time. When he hit the back of Akihito’s throat, it took all of Asami’s control not to lose himself. Akihito’s eyes were closed, utterly lost in concentration as he sucked Asami’s cock with a single-minded determination.

“Akihito...look at me.” Asami pulled his Imprint off his dick with a wet sound and waited for Akihito to open his eyes. When he finally did, they were already hazy and unfocused with lust. 

“Only I can do this to you. Not Fei Long, or any other man. Only me.”

Asami tapped his cock, slick with spit, against Akihito’s cheek when it looked like Akihito wasn’t going to respond. The feeling startled Akihito out of his trance. 

“Only you, Asami, please.” 

Akihito fought the hand Asami had gripping his hair as he tried to return his mouth to Asami’s cock. Easily holding him back, Asami relished in the pure lust on Akihito’s face. 

“Beg me for it,” Asami commanded, holding his cock just out of reach. He wanted to hear his Imprint’s desire out loud, wanted to stretch this moment out and commit it to his memory. 

“I-I can’t.” Akihito reached for Asami’s cock with his hands until Asami shook him gently like he would a bad puppy. 

“Hands behind your back, Akihito.” 

The command sparked a flare of resistance in Akihito’s eyes as he glared at Asami. Asami merely let a cruel edge creep over his face, one Akihito was well acquainted with from long nights of back-breaking sex. 

“I won’t tell you twice. Don’t think that just because we’re on vacation you can avoid punishment. I brought along plenty of toys that I’m sure you’ll enjoy.” 

That got Akihito listening. The boy slowly crossed his arms behind him, one hand coming to grip his other wrist. 

“Good boy. Keep them there.”

Asami slipped a thumb into Akihito’s mouth, prodding the hot warmth inside. “Start talking unless you want to stay on your knees all day.” 

Akihito whined. The sound, combined with the vision of Akihito on the ground at Asami’s mercy, was almost enough for Asami to abandon control and push his aching cock into Akihito’s sweet mouth. 

Restraint. Restraint was key, all good things would come in time. Akihito needed to understand that Asami was in charge now - not Fei Long, not the Russians, and certainly not the darkness of Akihito’s own mind. 

“Please, Asami, I need your cock in my mouth.”

“Why?”

Akihito shook, the muscles in his arms shifting behind him as he tried to resist releasing his grip. Asami continued to hold Akihito just off of his cock, close enough that he could feel Akihito’s hot breath on his skin. 

“Because I need you inside me. I want you to make me forget everything else. All I want to think about is you.”

Satisfied, Asami pushed his hips forward and choked Akihito down. He would have worried whether Akihito could take it so rough if it wasn’t for the blissful look on his face. Akihito’s own cock looked painfully hard standing neglected against his stomach. Shifting his stance, Asami pushed one leg forward until his calf brushed Akihito’s hardness, making him moan. The reverberations down Asami’s own cock made him groan and thrust quicker. 

“Do you think you can get off just by rubbing against my leg like a slut?” Asami asked, sadistically pushing his leg harder against Akihito. The boy involuntarily thrust against the pressure provided by Asami. Precum smeared against Asami’s skin, slicking the way for Akihito to move at an even more frantic pace. 

“If you come before me I’ll make you regret it,” Asami continued, stepping his leg back to take any contact off of Akihito’s cock. 

Akihito made a noise, low and pitiful, his watery eyes silently begging Asami to hurry up. 

“Jesus,” Asami cursed under his breath as he sped up his hips, punching deep into Akihito’s unresisting throat. He could keep going for longer. Keep Akihito like this until his knees bruised and he ran out of air. 

Instead, he decided to be kind. With a final few thrusts, Asami released his grip on Akihito’s hair and let him sputter for air as Asami came in bursts across Akihito’s face and into his mouth. 

“Perfect,” Asami whispered. He smeared come across Akihito’s cheek and fed him stray bits with his fingers, collected from the corner of his mouth. Akihito’s tongue swirled around his fingers obligingly. The look on his face as he did so was enough to make Asami’s dick twitch again with interest. 

“Asami - please - I need to come. Please let me come,” Akihito begged, his cock hanging untouched, thrusting at nothing in the air. 

“It’s been a few days, do you think you can come untouched?” Asami asked. 

“No, I can’t - I need something, anything!” Akihito cried. “L-let me rub against your leg, that’s all it will take!” 

Asami was gratified to see that even in his desperation Akihito was following his orders, his hands still self-restrained behind his back. If he let them go Asami decided he wouldn’t let him come all night. He had a new cock ring packed with the luggage that would look delicious on Akihito. 

“I think you’ll do as I tell you,” Asami said. He circled behind Akihito, nudging his legs wider apart and letting him rest his head briefly against his hip. Akihito shuddered with need. With his legs spread and his arms behind his back, Akihito’s entire body was at Asami’s mercy. Asami reached one hand to grip Akihito’s throat again while his other hand went around to pinch Akihito’s nipples. Flicking and twisting at the pink nubs, Asami began to tighten his grip around Akihito’s throat until he was gasping for air. He leaned in to talk in a low, dangerous voice directly into Akihito’s ear:

“You’re going to come untouched for me, because you’re mine. Your body is mine to do as I please with, your soul is mine and mine alone. The thoughts in your head are mine. The air in your lungs is mine. I’ll keep you on the edge for as long as it takes.”

Asami continued to pour filth into Akihito’s ear, loosening and tightening his grip on Akihito’s throat so he could just barely take in enough oxygen to breath. His other hand continued to torture Akihito’s nipples. Occasionally they wandered down to pinch at the skin around his stomach and pelvis. With every cruel touch, Akihito’s chest rose and fell like it didn’t know whether to chase more or less stimulation. His hips continued to thrust out, chasing a touch it wouldn’t get from Asami’s hand.

Asami wasn’t lying. He could keep Akihito like this forever, kneeling and vulnerable in front of him. The shaking in Akihito’s body said he wouldn’t last long though. Asami gave another vicious pinch to his nipple and tightened his grip to cut off any air through Akihito’s mouth. 

“Come for me, Akihito.”

For a moment nothing happened. Then, Akihito’s entire body seized up as he orgasmed over the floorboards and his own stomach. His knees could no longer support him and Asami caught him as he began to collapse to the ground. 

Asami maneuvered him back onto the bed, silently appreciating the slack-jawed pleasure on Akihito’s face. The hold on Akihito’s neck would leave faint marks, but none of them would even compare to the bruises already on Akihito’s chest. 

“Are you convinced this is reality yet?” Asami asked as he slid into bed next to him. The sheets would be covered with their sweat, but Asami couldn’t care.

Akihito blinked a few times before his faculties came back to him. “I don’t know, I think maybe you’ll need to do that a few more times just so I can be sure.”

* * *

After three days, Fei Long finally gained the coherency to say, “Stop!”

Mikhail looked up from where he was idly caressing Feilong’s naked back, passing time in the lull between rounds of sex. Fei Long slapped his hand away and pulled a sheet over his bare body. 

“I should have sneaked a touch years ago. Think about all of the sex we missed out on!” Mikahil exclaimed. 

Fei Long grimaced at the memory of him and Mikhail falling over each other after their Imprint event. They barely managed to wait for the doctor to finish bandaging Fei Long’s wound before stripping. Next came frantic, nonstop sex, first in one of the ship’s suites, then in Fei Long’s own bedroom on land. He could hardly recall what happened in between; he had no memory of Asami and Akihito even leaving his cruise ship. His advisors could have been pounding on the door this whole time and he wouldn’t have noticed. 

“We can’t just barricade ourselves in my bedroom. I need to instruct the Baishe on how we plan to proceed. God knows what your men have been doing unattended for the past few days,” Fei Long said. 

“They’re fine. It’s not like everyone doesn’t know that an Imprint between the two of us means joining families. It’ll be a mutually beneficial relationship. We could probably even take Asami down now, if you’re still hung up on him,” Mikhail said. 

“Oh god,” Fei Long groaned. “That bastard will never let me live it down if he finds out I’ve Imprinted on you.”

“What, Asami? He already knows.”

“What do you mean he already knows?!” 

It had to be that traitor Yoh. Fei Long should have shot him when he had the chance. Curse his sentimentality. His one clear memory fresh off of Imprinting was that he couldn’t bear to pull the trigger on the one person who’d stood by his side since he’d been ready to die in prison; the person who had pressed his own gun into Fei Long’s hands and asked him to end it because he would sooner die than leave Fei Long of his own volition. 

Mikhail conjured a box, seemingly from nowhere. “He sent an Imprinting gift.”

Fei Long examined the image on the box cover with distaste. “A...tea set?” 

Mikhail nodded. “Came with a card too.”

Fei Long was sorely tempted to burn the card without reading it. Instead, he snatched the paper from Mikhail’s hand and tore open the cream-colored envelope. It was high quality card stock, at least. The first side of the card merely read “Congratulations on your Imprint”, signed with Asami’s fine handwriting. Fei Long was prepared to toss it when he realized the second side, curiously, had a paragraph written in chicken scratch: 

“Dear Fei Long, 

I know you’re probably freaking out right now. Despite everything that’s happened between us, I feel the need to tell you that you will be okay. Imprinting isn’t the end of the world, if anything it’s the beginning of a new one. Take it from someone who lived without their Imprint for ten long years - trying to resist the bond will only make you miserable. It doesn’t have to be a weakness, or insanity. You can choose to let it make you stronger. 

\- Akihito”

Below that was a “P.S.”, followed by an email address if he ever wanted to “commiserate about their Imprints”. 

Fei Long couldn’t help but laugh. Asami was a lucky bastard and Fei Long hoped he knew it. 

Mikhail looked down at the card at the sound of Fei Long’s laugh, then back up to Fei Long’s face. “Jesus, don’t tell me you actually like the kid.” 

Fei Long defensively snapped the card shut. Mikahil smirked. 

“You know, we could always make peace with Asami. It would do us good to have an ally like him on our side. I have plenty of enemies in Russia, and I know your hold on Hong Kong isn’t as solid as you’d like. Isn’t your little feud with him settled now?” 

“Stop using phrases like ‘us’ and ‘we’.”

“Well we are a ‘we’ now, aren’t we?”

Fei Long could strangle him with his bedsheets. Mikhail seemed to notice his restraint because his face only became more smug. Propping his head up with one arm, he traced a line down Fei Long’s chest. One finger circled the area around his new wound, the patch of skin Mikhail had touched to trigger their Imprint. 

“You can’t kill me, we’re Imprinted.”

“You underestimate me.”

“It’s never been done.”

“Then I’ll be the first!”

“Isn’t arguing so tiresome? We could be doing so many other, more pleasurable activities right now…” 

Fuck him, but Fei Long decided he was right. 

* * *

When they touched down in Tokyo, Akihito realized he really hadn’t been gone for all that long. It had been what, two or three weeks, maybe? Sure, he’d missed a paycheck or two, but somehow he also figured Fei Long would probably wire him half a million Yen in recompse if he only asked. What a terrifying thought. Two weeks ago, a lifetime ago, he was still angry at Asami for moving him into his penthouse against his will and debating the ethics of lying to his friends about his fake girlfriend. 

“Oh my god, do my friends think I’m AWOL? Have they filed a missing persons report?” Akihito asked. He didn’t even know what Fei Long had done with his cell phone. For all he knew, it’d been tossed into Tokyo Bay and the fishes were answering his voicemails. 

“They think you’re on a case,” Asami replied, pulling him out of the terminal and into a town car. 

“My friends think I disappeared mid-way through dinner and went off the grid for weeks because I was on a case? How stupid do you think they are?”

“It was that, or I could have told them you were kidnapped out of the country by a black market egomaniac trying to exact revenge on your Imprint.” 

Akihito slumped into his seat. “Well what am I supposed to tell them when I actually introduce you? Or tell my parents? We’ll need to lie about how and when we met and what you do for a living.” So basically, everything. 

They’d begun making plans for their Imprinting ceremony. Or, more accurately, Akihito had spent ten minutes looking through binders stuffed to the brims with pamphlets about flowers and table layouts and decorations before being overwhelmed and deciding to leave the details in Asami’s hands. Which mostly meant Kirishima’s hands. Imprint ceremonies were like planning a wedding with twice as much ceremony, half as much fun, and the added pressure of knowing the photos would end up in a paper the next day under “Imprinting News”. 

Akihito still had to come up with how to tell his parents in person. Somehow, he didn’t think, “hey, remember that school trip to Tokyo when I was in middle school, well funny story…” would be well received. 

“I’m sure we can manufacture a boring cover story. You photographed me at an event? Bumped into me at a coffee shop? Stood next to me in an elevator?”

“You know that first one is actually how my parents Imprinted, right?”

“Then it’s a believable possibility.” 

The asshole was completely unfazed. Meanwhile, Akihito had been ready to have a panic attack in the plane bathroom just thinking about his dad and Asami in the same room. Even though he’d mellowed out in his later years, his dad had still spent more than a decade catching criminals on camera in the field. He was going to smell the danger radiating off of Asami from a mile away, realize  _ this _ was the man Akihito had Imprinted on and would now spend an eternity with, and have a heart attack while his mom tried to show off his baby photos and old elementary school trophies. 

“I’m going to take a bus to go visit them tomorrow,” Akihito decided. 

“Don’t bother. I’ll drive you there,” Asami said. 

“You want to meet my parents tomorrow?”

“Would you rather I meet them for the first time at our Imprinting ceremony?”

“No! I just - it’s sudden, is all. I don’t know how they’ll react.” 

“I would like to accompany you, but it’s your decision. I never have to meet them at all. We can call off the whole ceremony anytime,” Asami said. 

Akihito didn’t even know why the dumb ceremony was so important to him. He’d already resigned himself to never getting the traditional Imprinting experience when Asami dropped the bomb on him in Bali. Maybe it was important because he’d grown up staring at the framed photograph of his parents’ ceremony hanging in their kitchen, wondering if that would ever be him one day. Or maybe it was because he didn’t want to feel like Asami’s dirty secret anymore. 

“Hey, do you think we’ll get an invitation to Fei Long and Mikhail’s ceremony? I mean, they kind of Imprinted because of us, didn’t they?”

“Fei Long got himself into that mess when he kidnapped you. Or did you forget that part?” 

Akihito hadn’t forgotten (just ask his still healing ribs), but he’d decided to choose the path of radical acceptance since stewing over Hong Kong had nearly drowned him. He was still embarrassed about the whole ordeal. Who escaped the clutches of two bad guys just to die in a still pool of water? 

Worse, he’d developed some sort of Stockholm Syndrome-equivalent feeling of friendship towards Fei Long, especially since discovering that Fei Long had Imprinted on Mikhail. They were kindred spirits now, of a sort, both Imprinted on the last person they’d expect. 

“Do you think he read the card?”

Asami smirked. “I think he burned the whole package upon arrival.” 

“Then what was the point of sending it to him to begin with!”

“Just letting him know that we know.”

Asami took them straight from the airport to an Imprinting clinic. Akihito turned away as he paid off the staff to overlook the numerous inconsistencies in their cobbled-together interviews and to date their Imprint to the week before despite their test results showing otherwise. Acknowledging that they had been unknowingly Imprinted for a decade and managed to maintain a bond while living apart would make them a news spectacle for weeks, or worse, attract Imprinting scientists chasing blood samples. 

The whole process, even hurried along by discreet envelopes of money, took hours. Akihito emerged from the building to find the sun already dying, commuters swarming the streets and politely fighting each other to get home. It was good to be back in Tokyo. 

“Hungry?” Asami rumbled behind him. 

Akihito shook his head. “Take me home.” 

* * *

The penthouse looked the same. Akihito didn’t know what he expected, but the familiarity unnerved him. So much had changed in just a few weeks, shouldn’t the penthouse have changed too? 

Asami threw their bags into the master bedroom and then proceeded to the kitchen where he began pulling fresh vegetables out of the fridge. He had half the ingredients for stir fry chopped before Akihito could even react. 

“You’re cooking?”

“I wasn’t always rich enough to afford a private cook, you know,” Asami said. 

“How can I know? You never talk about your past,” Akihito shot back, leaning against the kitchen counter to look Asami in the eye. Asami didn’t even blink. He returned Akihito’s gaze while dicing carrots and onions with alarming efficiency. 

“There’s not much to it. My parents died young, so I ended up in an orphanage. The local gang would recruit some of the boys to run drugs for them, and it made more money than any other work I could find. I knew I wanted more though, so at fourteen I ran away and broke off from the gang to set out on my own. In my early twenties I met Kirishima and we decided to go into business together. You know most of the rest.”

There was more to it. Infinitely more that Akihito didn’t know about hung in the shadow of each sentence, but Akihito wasn’t going to push it today. Not when they were back in the penthouse that he’d begun to consider home and Asami was cooking him dinner like that was a thing he did now.

The food was good, better than Akihito could make, but they didn’t linger over the dining table. As soon as the dishes were stacked away Akihito headed for their bedroom. 

Someone had laid out fresh sheets on the bed before they arrived. Akihito appreciated the thought as he threw off his shirt, carefully not looking down at himself. He’d been avoiding mirrors ever since the pool incident. Just a glimpse of his bruised torso still disturbed him. Asami didn’t say a word, just like he didn’t say anything about Akihito’s nightmares or the fact that his hands occasionally trembled while holding his camera. 

Bali had been full of sex, but Akihito wanted sex in the comfort of their own bed. Asami looked amused when he entered the room to find Akihito shimmying out of his pants. 

“Eager?” Asami asked. 

Akihito threw his underwear at Asami’s face, climbing on the bed and spreading his limbs out in a way he knew Asami couldn’t resist. 

“Too tired to keep up, old man?” 

Asami knew he was being goaded but started to remove the layers off his suit anyway. The tie came undone, then the jacket, before he was suddenly leaning over Akihito, still mostly clothed. 

Akihito would never say it out loud but he loved the power imbalance whenever Akihito was naked and Asami was still dressed in his pressed slacks and button-up shirt. He liked feeling the stiff material of Asami’s clothes against his oversensitized skin, and he liked seeing Asami’s flawless look turn sweaty and mussed after a vigorous round of sex. 

“Don’t let your mouth get you into something you can’t handle, brat,” Asami said. Disappearing for a moment into the closet, Asami reemerged with a length of black rope in his hands. Not entirely unexpected, given his propensity for kinky sex and relentless need for control. Akihito decided not to fight him just yet. 

His arms were pulled up, rope looped around each wrist before being pulled to opposite corners of the bed frame and tied off on hidden metal rings behind the wood. The kinky bastard had hooks and grooves installed seemingly everywhere in the apartment for BDSM purposes. Akihito still hadn’t discovered them all. 

Akihito tested his range of motion. It wasn’t much. Asami was an expert at knots and he had only enough slack to maybe roll himself on to his stomach. Still, the setup was simpler than Asami usually liked. 

“What’s the plan here?” Akihito asked. 

He startled when Asami shushed him, taking his discarded tie from the ground and pulling it up to Akihito’s face. 

“Hey!” Akihito protested when his eyes were suddenly blinded, the tie firmly secured around the back of his head. 

“Need me to gag you?” Asami asked. It was entirely rhetorical. Asami would do whatever he wanted and Akihito was only along for the ride. 

“I need you to get on with it,” Akihito sniped. 

There was the sound of a cap opening before cold, slick fingers slipped between his legs. He moaned and spread his knees as far as they would go. One finger entered him, followed too quickly by a second, and then a third. Asami always knew exactly how much he could take. Like always, he rode the line between too much too fast and not enough, filling Akihito up to the point where he couldn’t take anymore but carefully avoiding his prostate. 

Akihito squirmed, trying to get some more stimulation. Asami held his hips down and continued to thrust his fingers in and out at an even pace. 

“Take what I give you. Don’t get greedy.”

He was greedy. Akihito wanted everything, tried to convey that with the arch of his back and a long moan. The darkness behind the blindfold amplified every feeling of Asami’s fingers inside of him. A clothed leg brushed over Akihito’s bare thigh, pinning it to bed as Asami’s hand shifted in even deeper. A mouth licked up Akihito’s chest and bit sharp marks along his collarbone and shoulder. 

“I think you’re almost ready,” Asami said. 

Whatever Asami planned to say next was interrupted by the sound of a cell phone going off. Akihito groaned, then bit his lip when Asami actually leaned over him to grab it from the bedside table. 

“You can’t possibly be planning on--” Akihito began, cut off by a vicious turn of Asami’s fingers, still throbbing inside of him. 

“I’d be quiet if I were you, unless you want Kirishima to hear you,” Asami said. 

Akihito pressed his lips together and tried to bury his face into the pillow. Asami actually answered the call, exchanging clipped words with Kirishima while Akihito bit his lip bloody and tried to ignore the heat rushing through his body at the thought that Kirishima might overhear him. 

“--I’ll call you back in a minute,” Asami said, tossing the phone aside. 

“Back in a minute?” Akihito groaned. “Aren’t we in the middle of something?” 

“Business can’t wait,” Asami replied. He pulled his fingers out from Akihito and left him achingly empty. 

Akihito expected him to untie his hands. Instead, something larger than Asami’s fingers pushed into him. It was just long enough to brush the sensitive spot inside of him but too short to really give him relief. Akihito groaned as its flared end bottomed out and it settled inside of him. He could guess what Asami was planning even before his legs were stretched out and his ankles tied to the ends of the bed. His body now spread eagle, Asami slipped something rubbery and firm in between his teeth as the finishing touch. 

Actually, the finishing touch was Asami activating the vibrator inside him. Akihito thrashed at the sudden pleasure zipping through his body while Asami brushed a hand gently over his face. 

“Be good while I take this call,” Asami said. 

* * *

When Fei Long finally extracted himself from Mikhail’s wandering hands, he found Yoh standing stoic-faced in front of the door to his suite. The man had apparently recovered enough from his injuries to spend the last few days fending off Fei Long’s advisors. Fei Long guessed that’s why no one had bothered him or Mikhail in the midst of their sex-frenzy. He was moderately impressed, given more than half of the Baishe still wanted to kill Yoh for treason and mortified, given it meant Yoh had heard the noises coming out of his bedroom.

“My loyalty is to you now, not Asami or the Baishe,” Yoh had said on the ship. Somehow it was the exact words Fei Long had been waiting to hear for so long. 

“What’s the situation?”

“The rest of the Baishe are concerned but know there is no changing what has been done. It is now a question of showing them your Imprint will not become a liability, as you used Asami’s against him.”

Fei Long studied Yoh. He looked like shit, really, still bruised and bandaged but standing guard like nothing was wrong, like Fei Long’s men hadn’t nearly killed him a few days prior. 

“Go rest, I hardly need protecting right now from someone so infirmed. Come back afterwards and we’ll talk about your new place by my side.”

Yoh’s eyes flickered with interest but he nodded and limped down the corridor. 

“Poor guy’s got it bad, huh?” Mikhail said from behind him. 

“I think you know something about that now,” Fei Long responded. Mikahil stared at Fei Long’s lips with unabashed interest before snapping his head up.

“Well, the bond goes both ways.”

Their Imprint bond was currently thrumming under Fei Long’s skin. It wasn’t until the second day that Fei Long had registered it. There wasn’t exactly an “Imprinting user manual” given its rarity and diversity of experience, so he’d originally flagged the feeling as shock. Now he was cognizant enough to discern Mikhail’s individual moods, usually flickering between amusement and lust. Fei Long was sure he could pinpoint Mikhail’s presence anywhere now, even blindfolded in a crowded room. Maybe he would email Akihito, ask if it felt the same for him. Reassure himself that he wasn’t going crazy. 

“Stop worrying so much,” Mikhail said. 

Fei Long slapped him on the shoulder. “Stop spying on my emotions.”

“I saw that on your face, not through the bond!” Mikahil argued, hands going up in surrender. 

Like Mikhail being able to read emotions off his face was any more of a relief for Fei Long. 

“I’m going to call and bring some of my men into Hong Kong. We’ll need to figure out an arrangement for splitting our time between here and Macau,” Mikhail said. 

“Will the rest of your organization mourn your Uncle?” Fei Long asked. 

“I doubt it. He wasn’t a very pleasant man.” 

Fei Long understood that to be an understatement. He’d seen the criss-crossed scars on Mikhail’s back and listened to Mikhail’s descriptions of his abusive childhood, realizing how alarmingly similar their upbringings had been. Mikhail had, in turn, seen his old bullet wound and listened to his explanation of his brother and why his feud with Asami had lasted so long. It was the most honest either of them had been with another person in a long time. 

Perhaps fate knew what it was doing, tying the two of them together. They were broken in the same ways but victorious all the same. They were still alive. They’d won. 

“I should thank Takaba for killing him, really,” Mikhail continued. 

“I won’t protect you from Asami’s wrath if you go near his Imprint again.” 

“We have to thank them anyway for the tea set.” Mikhail hadn’t let Fei Long smash it. 

“Call your men while I talk to mine,” Fei Long said. He realized with growing horror that they would need to hold a ceremony. There was no hope they could try to conceal their bond after the disaster on the cruise. “Do Russians do Imprinting ceremonies?” 

“Doesn’t everyone?” Mikhail shrugged. “Never been, but someone around here has to know how to piece one together.” 

It was Fei Long’s problem then. He wondered if it would be overly cruel to put Yoh on the job. 

“Hey,” Mikhail said. He pulled Fei Long into a deep kiss, static electricity crackling between them like it wasn’t already the hundredth time they’d touched lips in the course of a few days. Fei Long closed his eyes and gripped Mikhail’s blond hair in one hand, ignoring that they were standing in the middle of a hallway where anyone could pass by. 

“What was that for?” Fei Long gasped. 

Mikhail looked pleased. “Just a little incentive for you to finish your business quickly.” 

* * *

When Asami returned after a little less than an hour on the phone, Akihito was wrecked. The vibe hadn’t been enough on its own to drive Akihito to an orgasm, so the boy was still hard and leaking precome over his stomach. His wrists and ankles were raw and red from where he’d fought the ropes and the tie covering his eyes was damp with tears. Part of Asami wanted to see how long he’d have to leave Akihito tied before he came untouched like he had in Bali. 

Akihito began to frantically whine from behind his gag at the sound of Asami’s approaching footsteps. Asami shelved the idea for another day. His Imprint would inevitably get himself into trouble again and need punishment. 

Asami removed the gag, waiting for Akihito to spit out, “Asami, you asshole!” 

Thumbing the switch at the bottom of the vibrator to a higher level, Asami was gratified when Akihito’s voice cut off with a shout. 

“You were saying?” Asami asked, smug. 

It took a full minute for Akihito to regain enough composure to form full words. 

“Un-untie me!” 

Asami obligingly removed the rope from Akihito’s legs, but only so he could flip him onto his knees and get a better grip on the vibe. It was slick with sweat, just like the rest of Akihito’s body. Akihito screamed as Asami roughly thrust it in and out, back to complete incoherency. 

When Asami finally pulled the vibe out, Akihito went through a full-body shudder. His back flushed and arched as Asami trailed kisses down his shoulder blades. 

“You sadist,” Akihito gasped. 

Asami gave him a sharp slap on the ass to earn the insult, then a second one on the other side just for symmetry. Red bloomed over his skin. Beautiful. 

“Only with you, Akihito,” Asami said. 

He slicked his hard cock with lube, teasing the head against Akihito’s asshole. Akihito’s hands, still tied, gripped the headboard tighter as his knees shook with the effort of keeping himself upright. Sliding a strong arm below Akihito’s chest to support him, Asami leaned in to bite the sensitive spot behind Akihito’s ear. 

“God, Asami - stop - stop teasing!” 

Out of his mind with lust, Akihito whimpered and thrust his body back in a sad attempt to impale himself on Asami’s cock. Asami easily held him back. He rarely intended to be so cruel with his Imprint, but something about Akihito made it hard to resist. Maybe his twisted impulses bled through during sex because Asami tried so hard everyday to shield Akihito from the rest of his darkness. 

Either way, Asami could easily tell by now when Akihito was complaining for complaining’s sake and when he was serious. Asami pushed Akihito to the edge, but he never took him over it. 

“Get on with it you bastard,” Akihito yelled. 

Asami undid the knot on the tie blindfolding Akihito just to see his bright hazel eyes turn back to meet Asami’s. Even wet with tears they were defiant. 

Instead of replying, Asami pushed into Akihito’s body in one powerful movement. The tightness and warmth around his cock almost unbearable. No matter how many times they had sex, Asami always had the breath knocked out of him when entering Akihito’s body. From Akihito’s wails, he could see the feeling was the same for him. 

Akihito rocked back and forth on Asami’s cock, his own hardness rutting against the sheets beneath him. Asami decided to be kind and take Akihito’s cock in one hand, his other arm still propping Akihito up. He hardly had to move his arm, every rough thrust of his body propelling Akihito’s dick into his tight grip. The system encouraged Akihito to meet his hips with more force as he chased his own orgasm. 

Asami could feel when Akihito was about to come. His hole tightened like a vice around Asami’s cock, the rhythm of his hips faltering. With a few flicks of Asami’s wrist, Akihito was screaming his release. 

Asami flipped Akihito on to his back as soon as he finished, his cock still buried inside Akihito’s body. His Imprint groaned with overstimulation but didn’t protest. In fact, he insistently tugged on the ropes binding his arms. 

“Untie me, let me touch you.”

With a few quick tugs, Asami released Akihito’s wrists. Akihito quickly wrapped his arms around Asami’s back and pulled him into a kiss. Startled, Asami leaned into it, turning it into something filthier. When their lips finally broke apart, Akihito wiggled his hips. 

“Aren’t you going to keep going?” 

Asami grinned and inched his cock almost all the way out, slamming it back in and grinding Akihito against the headboard. 

“You’re such a tease,” Asami groaned. Akihito tightened his hole in retribution, making Asami’s hips stutter for a moment. 

“Only for you,” Akihito said. 

A few more thrusts into Akihito’s tight body and the sweet sound of Akihito’s moans were all it took for Asami to finally come deep inside of Akihito. Pulling out, he couldn’t resist fingering the wet mess he’d left behind. Akihito mumbled under his breath, pulling his legs up to protect himself from Asami’s probing fingers. 

“Go get me a towel,” Akihito demanded. 

Asami smirked at his Imprint's pushiness and headed to the bathroom. He quickly wiped himself off before wetting a towel for Akihito. 

“I can do it myself!” Akihito said, squirming when Asami began scrubbing the cooling come off of his stomach. He twitched when Asami dipped the towel in between his legs but obediently spread them wider. 

“Let me take care of you,” Asami said. 

“Take care of me? What business was so important you left me tied up in the middle of sex!?” 

“Plenty of my enemies are on the move after Hong Kong and the time we spent in Bali. Plus, I won’t be able to head into the office tomorrow since I’m accompanying you to visit your parents.”

Akihito buried his head into his pillow with a sigh. 

“What are you so worried about, Akihito?”

Asami gently turned Akihito towards him, wrapping his arms around Akihito’s smaller body. The boy snuggled into his embrace with a contented noise. 

“What if they don’t like you?” Akihito whispered. 

“They love you. Isn’t that all that matters? They can hardly fault you for who you Imprint on.”

“It doesn’t feel good to lie to them. I’ve made their lives so difficult. It was a miracle I graduated high school without getting arrested or expelled.” 

“You could tell them the truth.

Akihito looked up in surprise. “You want me to tell them the truth?”

“Maybe with some careful omissions, but yes. You could tell them about Imprinting on me a decade ago and refinding me in Tokyo. They would understand how difficult the past ten years have been for you.”

“And what do I say when they ask what you do?”

“I’m a businessman, aren’t I?” Asami ignored Akihito’s snort to continue, “I own plenty of legitimate businesses - clubs, hotels, resorts.” 

“A businessman! My dad is going to see right through you.” 

“I’ll play nice if he will.”

Akihito gave him a small smile. “Meeting the parents. I’m sure you never expected to see the day.”

Asami hadn’t expected anything that had come with Akihito. You couldn’t have paid his past self any amount of money to convince him to Imprint on someone, let alone a brash and reckless photographer who wanted to catch him in the middle of illicit acts. He’d never expected to feel love, or to put someone’s life and well being above his own. 

“I never could have expected you,” Asami said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Sex scenes containing breath play, bondage, blindfolds, minor edging; description of a character nearly drowning; references to violence from the previous chapter 
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed this update! Also feel free to shoot me any suggestions on what you want to see from Feilong/Mikhail or Asami meeting Akihito's parents. The next chapter will be a little slower going up as I've just started a new full-time job.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for waiting so patiently for an update! I've spent the last month moving cross-country and starting my first full time job out of school so it's been hectic trying to find time to write. As always, please drop a comment if you enjoy and let me know what you want to see from the next chapter! 
> 
> Minor chapter warnings are listed in the end notes.

Asami looked dangerously out of place sitting in his living room, like a grizzly bear that had mistakenly wandered into a kindergarten classroom. Akihito’s family wasn’t poor, but Asami’s tie alone probably cost more than the worn couch he was seated on. The comfortably lived-in decades-old furniture and decorations of his family home were the complete opposite of Asami’s sleek, modern penthouse. 

Akihito grimaced as his mom fawned over Asami, fluttering around the room with tea and fruit in hand. She had taken the news shockingly well, insisting that she “always knew” Akihito would find his Imprint. An expensive bottle of wine and a fruit basket, along with a polite greeting, were all it took for Asami to endear himself to Akihito’s mother. Meanwhile, Akihito’s dad had become grim-faced upon opening the door to the sight of Asami standing next to Akihito in his three-piece suit. 

“...so you’re a businessman. What type of business are you in, again?” Akihito’s dad asked, injecting skepticism into the word “businessman”. Akihito already wanted to crawl under their coffee table and die. 

“I own a few clubs and restaurants in Tokyo, as well as resorts and hotels across Japan,” Asami said, unperturbed by the older Takaba’s stony demeanor. 

“Asami-san is so impressive! Few people can hope to own so many successful businesses at such a young age.” 

Takaba Hisayo spoke with rapid enthusiasm as she rushed between the kitchen and the living room, her arms laden with bowls of snacks. “We’re so glad you found your Imprint, Aki! You know, your father and I were so worried about you moving into the city, but it all turned out for the best didn’t it?”

Akihito sipped his tea rather than trying to come up with a response. Sneaking a glance at his Imprint, he could see Asami was silently amused by the whole affair. 

“Did Akihito ever tell you about his school trip to Tokyo as a child?” Hisayo asked, turning to Asami. “The poor boy got lost from his class and disappeared for half a day. They didn’t find him until it was well into the night, and he was covered in blood! The call nearly gave us a heart attack. He wasn’t injured himself, thank goodness, but he didn’t even have any memory of what had happened to him! What kind of gross negligence to lose a young student in such a busy city.” 

Akihito felt a pain of guilt at his lie, and the fact that his parents still held the incident so close to their hearts. When he’d finally stumbled back to his class after wandering the streets in a daze, it had been easier to say he couldn’t remember what had happened to him than to try to explain saving a man’s life. After a few years, it almost became the truth as the details became ever blurrier and he convinced himself that he’d imagined most of it. 

“How awful,” Asami said, in a poor attempt at affecting shock. 

“Mom, didn’t you want to help us plan the ceremony?” Akihito asked. Ceremony preparation was a sure-fire conversation topic for his mom. Once she got started down the rabbit hole of decorations and catering they would never find their way back out. Akihito half wanted to leave her and Kirishima in a room together so he wouldn’t have to lift a finger when it came to ceremony decisions. 

“Oh! I should pull out the photos from our ceremony!” Hisayo exclaimed. Akihito sighed in relief as she hurried back out of the room to dig through their photo album collection, only to see his dad’s grave face and remember he wasn’t out of danger yet. 

“Are you doing well in Tokyo? Your mother worried when we didn’t hear from you for a few weeks,” Takaba Reo said. 

“I’m doing fine, dad,” Akihito said. “I just got caught up on an assignment and forgot to call. It’s been busy this past month.”

“But you’re being careful? Not taking any jobs that are too dangerous?” Reo’s eyes flickered to where Asami sat next to Akihito. 

“As careful as I ever am,” Akihito said evenly. Which was to say - not very. 

“I still have some contacts in Tokyo if you ever need any...help,” Reo said, with a strange emphasis on the word “help”. 

Help - running away from Asami? Jailing him? His dad’s double meanings were going to drive Akihito insane, and they hadn’t even made it twenty minutes into a conversation. 

“I’m fine, really! You don’t need to worry about me.”

“And you’ll keep him out of trouble?” Reo asked Asami.  _ And you won’t drag him into anything dangerous _ , was what he clearly wanted to ask. 

“I’m not sure anyone can stop Akihito if he puts his mind to something, but I would go to great lengths to keep Akihito out of harm’s way.”

“You must know, he is our only son. If anything were to --”

“Ok, dad! I think Asami gets it,” Akihito said, jumping in before Reo could continue his shovel talk. “Besides, he’s not responsible for me, okay? You know better than anyone else that my work can be dangerous.”

“Of course I know, that’s why I worry so much. When I gave you your first camera, I didn’t know you would follow in my footsteps.” Akihito’s dad had always been caught in a strange mix of pride and guilt about Akihito’s work. Most times, Akihito tried to avoid telling his parents about injuries accrued on the job, knowing they would only try to convince him to give up investigating for the safety of commercial photography or another profession altogether. 

“That camera saved my life, dad. You didn’t pull me into investigative photography against my will, I chose it. I wouldn’t trade what I do for anything. And I w- I want to make you proud.”

“I am proud of you, Akihito. Every day.” 

Akihito looked away from his dad, his eyes passing over the familiar walls of his childhood home. Every surface was lined with framed photographs, many of them his father’s works, and just as many of them Akihito’s early attempts behind a camera. There were shaky landscapes from before he had any notion of correcting for depth or lighting, a black and white portrait of his mom he had framed himself and given to her for mother’s day, even a newspaper clipping from his first photo to land on a front page. 

His parents loved him and he never doubted that. They’d loved and supported him through his worst years. Akihito just feared their support wouldn’t extend to his relationship with Asami if they learned the truth. 

* * *

To Akihito’s relief, he hardly needed to lie through their mostly-amicable lunch. Although his parents had questions about their initial Imprint and Asami’s job, the meal was mostly dominated by ceremony-talk and his mom’s insistence that they thoroughly consider the pros and cons of every type of venue imaginable. Akihito was beginning to suspect his mom had been planning for this day in advance for years given her seemingly endless knowledge of Tokyo ceremony vendors. 

After the food had been cleared, Akihito volunteered to wash the dishes and left Asami to flip through a photo album with Akihito’s parents. His dad, now mostly civil towards Asami, had brought out the good liquor (by their family’s standards) despite it being mid-day and Akihito hoped they could bond over alcohol. 

When Akihito was halfway through the pile of plates in the sink, Hisayo returned to the kitchen to try and take over dish-washing duties. She was never content to sit still, always bursting with the need to do something around the house when she wasn’t in the office. They often joked that Akihito had inherited her restlessness and high energy. 

“Go spend time with your father and your Imprint, don’t you want to look over our photos for inspiration?” Hisayo asked, tugging on the dirty dish in his hands. 

“I’ve seen those photos a million times, mom. Let me finish these, I’m almost done!” Akihito tugged the dish back towards him, inadvertently spraying himself with water when it passed under the still-running faucet at the wrong angle. The bottom half of his shirt was already turning translucent, now completely soaked through. 

“Oh goodness, get your shirt off before you catch a cold! We must have some of your old clothes still in your closet,” Hisayo said, taking the plate from Akihito’s hands. She tugged Akihito’s wet shirt up despite his protests, trying to wring the water out. 

Then the plate dropped from her hands, shattering across the kitchen tiles as her hands came up to cover her mouth. With Akihito’s shirt lifted, she could clearly see the pattern of sickly yellow bruises across Akihito’s stomach and chest, still healing after more than a week. 

“What happened to you? Is this why you didn’t call us for weeks?” Hisayo tugged Akihito closer as she looked him over, ignoring the shards of ceramic littering the floor. “Did Asami get you involved in something? Did he do this to you?” she whispered in rapid, hushed tones. 

Akihito was vaguely offended that his mom’s judgment immediately went to Asami (although she was technically correct). He probably looked like the poster child for domestic abuse right now. 

“Mom, it wasn’t --”

‘-- because just because you Imprinted on someone doesn’t mean they have the right to lay a hand on you --”

They were both cut off by Akihito’s dad and Asami slamming the kitchen door open. Akihito hurriedly tugged his shirt back down, but it was too late. His dad had already seen the bruises, his face flickering from shock to worry to outrage. 

“I think it’s time for you two to tell us the truth,” Reo said. 

* * *

Asami, against his better instincts, allowed Akihito to take the lead in telling his parents everything. He started with their first meeting a decade ago, leaving out the bloodier details, before moving on to their second and third meeting, glossing over the...kidnapping and rape that marked their formal introduction to each other. His parents were quiet, almost unnervingly so, as seemingly disconnected phenomena began to tie together. 

An unfamiliar pit of dread was forming in Asami’s stomach, typical of Akihito always managing to stir up long forgotten emotions inside of him. Akihito’s parents were going to convince Akihito to leave him, and Asami could hardly even argue against them. He and Akihito had only been together less than half a year. A blink of the eye, in the grand view of things, despite the way the past few months seemed to have dragged out into their own lifetime. 

Akihito’s father seemed to be filling in the censored details of Akihito’s story himself. By the time Akihito finished explaining Hong Kong, Reo’s hands were balled into tight fists in his lap, his knuckles white like he was seconds away from punching Asami in the face. Hell, Asami might let him, given what he’d done to their son. Hisayo had been quietly crying since they’d moved from the kitchen back to the living room and it clearly pained Akihito to see his mother in tears. 

Still, through it all, Akihito kept an iron grip on Asami’s hand. 

Finally, Akihito finished recounting their escape from Hong Kong and return to Tokyo. There was a moment of tense stillness, then - 

“You’ll leave him,” Reo said. 

“I won’t!” Akihito protested, tightening his grip on Asami’s hand until he thought Akihito’s nails would draw blood. 

“Aki, please, I know an Imprint is a sacred thing, but it doesn’t have to mean anything. Not when it’s going to get you killed. We’ll help you. You can move back home, we’ll do whatever it takes. And if Asami-san cares about you at all, he’ll let you go,” Hisayo said, tears still dripping down her face. 

Clearly Akihito’s mother wasn’t above playing dirty for her son. 

Asami gently disentangled himself from Akihito’s death grip, suddenly unable to bear the weight of Reo and Hisayo’s eyes on him. The blame currently radiating off his in-laws could kill a man more effectively than any gun. “I will give you three some privacy.”

“No, don’t go!” Akihito caught Asami’s arm with wild eyes, trying to pull him back down to the couch. 

“I’ll just be in the kitchen,” Asami tried to reassure him. 

Asami would fight to keep Akihito by his side. He would walk into a firefight and go against the devil himself to keep Akihito safe. But in the end, he couldn’t look Akihito’s parents in the eyes and tell them that no harm would come to their son. The truth was that Akihito would be safer if Asami let him go. Going public with their Imprint was a calculated choice given the messy fallout of Hong Kong, but it could just as easily backfire on Asami in a million different ways. His enemies could be undeterred by Asami’s threats and public claim on Akihito and go after his Imprint anyway. The inevitable public scrutiny and disapproval of his friends and family could become too heavy of a burden for Akihito to handle. 

Hearing their history laid out also forced Asami to pause. Asami was used to taking what he wanted in life by force, but could he really do the same to his Imprint? The foundations of their relationship were bullet wounds and kidnappings, the stuff of nightmares. Their first meeting was so traumatic they hadn’t even registered the Imprinting bond. 

In the end, their Imprint was just a series of chemical reactions and impulses drawing them together. There was nothing stopping Akihito from waking up one day and wanting out. There was nothing stopping him from wanting all the things Asami couldn’t offer - a romantic partner who didn’t come home with blood on his hands, a house with a yard in a quiet neighborhood, maybe even children. The bond would make it hard, but they could find a way. 

The real question was: could Asami ever let Akihito go, even if to save him? Or would Asami truly drag his Imprint down with him to the depths of hell?

Finding a broom and dustpan, Asami began sweeping up the broken remains of the plate off the kitchen floor. Akihito and his parents were yelling loud enough in the living room that Asami couldn’t avoid eavesdropping even if he wanted to. 

“-- some Yakuza and getting shot! We didn’t even know what was happening to you! What will we do if you get killed? Will we be kept in the dark about that too?” 

“My job is already dangerous!”

“It’s not the same and you know it, Aki! You can quit your job anytime. Meanwhile, people are already targeting you just for being with him. The enemies will never stop coming, and the longer you wait, the harder it will be to walk away.”

“You two are Imprinted! You what the bond feels like. I love him. Leaving him would tear me apart,” Akihito said. It was the first time Akihito had said those words out loud. 

“The Imprint isn’t enough! Would you love him without the bond? You could be happy with someone else. The vast majority of people find happiness and love with people who aren’t their soulmate. If you stay with him, you will never be able to have a normal life.” 

“My life already wasn’t normal. I want a relationship with Asami, and I would even if we weren’t Imprinted. You only heard the worst of it, it’s not all as bad as it sounds. There are so many other moments that make it worth it - when we cook together, when we tell each other about our days, when we lie in bed at night. I’m not going to give those up, and you can’t make me.”

Asami could hear Akihito sobbing now, his voice cut by deep, heaving breaths. 

“Please, you don’t have to like Asami, but you have to respect the decisions I make. I want you at my ceremony. I want to be able to come home with Asami for the holidays. My life may never be normal, but I still want these pieces of it. I still want the two of you in it,” Akihito begged. 

Asami waited, tense. Finally he heard Reo let out a sharp exhale. 

“I will never like him, but I can’t live your life for you. Promise me you will tell us the truth from now on, no matter how difficult it is, and I promise we will respect your decision to stay with him,” Reo said. 

“I promise, dad.”

“Oh, Aki. We just want what’s best for you. Things have been so difficult for you for so long. I can’t believe you’ve been carrying this weight alone for ten years. It’s not the life any parent would wish on their child,” Hisayo said. 

“I’m not afraid of difficulty or hard work. I know that Asami and I still have a lot to work through together, but we can do it.” 

There was the sound of more sniffling and quiet murmuring before the kitchen door swung open again. Asami looked up from the dustpan to see Akihito red-eyed but smiling. 

“You heard everything, didn’t you?” Akihito asked. 

“Yes.” 

A deep blush bloomed across Akihito’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean for you to hear it like that. I wanted to say it at a more special moment.”

It took Asami a second to process what Akihito was referring to.  _ I love him _ . All this time and they still hadn’t said “I love you” to each other. 

“We could say it didn’t count,” Asami said, simple as that. 

Akihito nodded, his smile growing even wider. “Okay, it didn’t count.”

They stood awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen before Akihito tugged him into an abrupt hug, knocking the dustpan out of his hand. Asami could feel Akihito quivering from the emotional toll of his conversation with his parents. It wasn’t the first meeting either of them had imagined, but perhaps telling them the truth was for the best. If Akihito’s parents could accept their relationship for what it truly was, there was hardly anything else standing in their way. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Akihito whispered into his shoulder. 

* * *

Akihito was so disoriented from lunch that he didn’t even realize they weren’t headed back to the penthouse until Asami pulled into an unfamiliar parking lot. 

“Where are we?” Akihito asked. 

“We visited your parents first. Now it’s time to visit mine.”

Asami pulled out of the car in one smooth motion, leaving Akihito to scramble out of his door. He watched, still feeling caught off-guard, as Asami popped open the trunk and pulled out a bag of fruit and incense that Akihito hadn’t even noticed when loading the car that morning. Asami must have planned to stop here from the beginning. 

Akihito followed Asami in silence as he walked to where they could wash their hands and collect a pail of water. Pail and bag of fruit in hand, Asami began treading through the neat rows of graves lining the cemetery plot. It was a quiet, overcast afternoon, with few other people paying their respects. The only sounds were their footsteps against the stone path and the birds singing in the trees. 

When Asami finally stopped in front of a tombstone, it looked no different than any of the dozens they’d already passed. Just a plain, square slab with maybe more dirt and moss collected on the surface than the rest. Akihito wasn’t sure what he’d expected. 

“I haven’t visited in some time. I’m not a very good son,” Asami said. Akihito knelt with him to gently pour water over the stone and scrub at the sides with a sponge from the bucket.

“I’m sure you do the best you can,” Akihito offered. It was difficult for him to think of Asami as someone’s son, even as he polished his parents’ grave. Even harder to imagine Asami losing both of his parents at such a tender, young age. From the dates carved into the stone, Asami had only been ten years old when he’d lost his parents. Akihito couldn’t even imagine what would have happened to him if he’d lost his parents at such an age. 

After polishing the tombstone and pulling weeds from the corners of the ground, Akihito helped Asami carefully lay the fruit out in front of the grave and light the incense. Once everything was set up, they both brought their hands together in prayer. 

“Mother, father, it’s been a long time since I’ve come to see you,” Asami began. “I wanted to introduce you to my Imprint, Akihito. I pray you may bless him with good luck and look after him. I - love him very much. And I hope you both feel the same way.” 

Akihito stared at Asami in shock but Asami’s eyes remained glued to the tombstone. The smoke from the incense curled around his face, which looked younger and more vulnerable than Akihito had ever seen it. For a moment, Akihito could see the shadow of Asami as a child, ridden with grief from the loss of his parents and unsure of his place in the world. Just as quickly, the shadow disappeared, leaving only the older Asami behind. Unflappable, self-confident. The leap between the two spoke volumes about what Asami had gone through to arrive at his current state. 

Asami loved him. Akihito had known it deep down, but hearing it out loud felt like a revelation. 

“Did that one count?” Akihito asked. 

“If you want it to,” Asami replied. 

Did he want it to count? “You didn’t say it to my face. Maybe I want to hear it again for the first time.” Akihito was greedy like that. 

Asami merely nodded, looking away like Akihito couldn’t see the fond look in his eyes. 

Akihito bowed towards the grave. “I will take good care of your son. You should be proud of what he has built for himself,” he stammered. 

They stood there for a moment longer, neither of them knowing what to say next. 

Meeting the parents, disregarding the associated drama that came with Asami being Asami, made everything feel real again. After worrying about vindictive mob bosses and getting shot, it was a mundane act that nevertheless joined their lives closer together. They had barely scratched the surface when it came to  _ knowing  _ each other and maintaining a real relationship without the drama of being wounded or kidnapped or otherwise drawn into the same room, and Akihito wanted all of it. He wanted to see more of Asami waking up in the morning, hair not yet perfectly sculpted; peeling fruit in the kitchen to share after dinner; learning what Asami had been like as a child. Akihito would face countless more Russian thugs if it meant getting to live these moments. 

Akihito leaned into Asami, inhaling the scent of his cologne and Dunhills alongside the brisk fresh air and scent of incense. Akihito would never ask Asami to give up his dangerous job, just as he would never want to give up his own. But the knowledge that these small moments of peace couldn’t last forever made him cherish them all the more. 

* * *

Akihito didn’t know how to react when Yama-san’s voice called out his name from across his favorite bakery the next morning. He turned around, half-hoping he could make a quick escape, but the detective was already striding towards him.

“Yama-san, long time no see,” Akihito said weakly. He’d been avoiding the precinct like the plague ever since he’d caught Yama-san in the midst of an incriminating phone call and learned he was a dirty cop. The sense of betrayal still hadn’t vanished, but Akihito tried to plaster on a smile anyway as he met Yama’s face. 

Yama looked…awful. His face was droopy and creased, with dark bags hanging underneath his eyes. A large cup of something, hopefully tea or coffee, was clutched in his jittery hand like a lifeline.

“Come with me,” Yama said, pulling Akihito out of the line and into a secluded corner table before he could even place his order. 

“What’s up?” Akihito asked.

“Akihito, I need you to tell me the truth here,” Yama said. His tone had Akihito on the edge. It wasn’t his friendly “let-me-help-you-out-brat” voice, it was his detective voice. The one he used when questioning a suspect.

“Are you involved with Asami?” Yama asked.

“Asami?” Akihito asked, genuinely thrown off.

“Don’t play dumb kid, answer the question.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Akihito lied. There was a chance Yama-san didn’t know anything, that he’d gotten it all wrong. 

“Funny, because I’ve heard rumors that Asami’s taken on a new lover. A blond man in his early twenties, walks around wearing vintage jeans, remind you of anyone?”

Akihito’s stomach dropped. He could make a run for it – it was a busy shop during the morning rush hour and there was no way Yama could chase him down. But that would make him look guilty, and Yama wasn’t going to give up so easily. If he ran now, the detective would keep tracking him down.

“There are lots of people fitting that description in Tokyo.”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks, coincidentally the same few weeks where Asami dipped town and we received reports that he may have been involved in a shoot-out on a cruise ship off the coast of Hong Kong. Reports where witnesses recall seeing a blond Japanese man wandering the ship with a gun. I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, but I know you. You’re a good kid. You’d never voluntarily associate with someone like Asami. If you accidentally got yourself too deep into a case, if you’re being blackmailed into something, I can help you out.”

“You, you can help me out how?” Akihito asked. If Yama-san had reports from Hong Kong, Akihito didn’t have a good chance of maintaining his naivete about knowing Asami. 

“We can put him away.”

Akihito actually laughed at that, ignoring the alarm on Yama-san’s face.

“The police can’t put him away. If you had any chance, you would have taken it already. You can’t touch him.”

“We’ve never gotten anything concrete enough on him to try, he’s too smart for that, but it looks like he keeps you close. Closer than we could ever hope to get. You’ve probably seen things. You could point us to the right people and places to look. Maybe even get us some photos.” 

“You want me to rat him out,” Akihtio summarized. 

“All I need is some solid information, and then we can protect you. We’ll help you disappear in a heartbeat. You won’t have to worry about him ever again.” 

“You don’t need to protect me. I can look after myself just fine. Besides, I don’t know shit.”

“Clearly you can’t look after yourself! You think a guy like Asami has morals? He’ll kill you and your family once he gets tired of sleeping with you. Meanwhile, you help expose bad guys for a living. I know you have dirt on Asami, it’s second nature for you to always be collecting information. Do the right thing here.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Akihito spit out. 

Yama opened his mouth, then closed it as he looked down from Akihito’s face to his hands, clenched on top of the table. More importantly, to where a gold ring now sat on his right ring finger. Akihito could see the exact moment Yama recognized the mobius strip twisting around the top of the ring. 

“You – don’t tell me you –” Yama stammered. His mouth opened and closed like a broken figurine. 

“I know you’re a dirty cop, okay? So don’t try to preach to me about morals and doing the right thing. I wasn’t going to say anything, but if you don’t back off, I’ll let your boss know where your side income is coming from,” Akihito said, no longer trying to contain his fury. Passing customers were starting to turn their heads as Akihito’s voice crescendoed and Yama cringed into himself. 

“Akihito - please listen - you don’t understand, my daughter’s sick, I have bills to pay--” Yama said in a hush. 

“I don’t care! You had other options. You could have asked me or any of your other buddies in the department for help. Instead, you’re what, helping push drugs and god knows what else around the city that you’re supposed to be protecting? And then coming after me, pretending like you care about my well-being while trying to guilt-trip me into helping make the arrest of your career? Shove off,” Akihito said. 

He stood up from the table, his chair screeching against the ground. Yama was still seated in shock, looking very small, and not at all like the proud detective Akihito had once admired. 

“Don’t ever come near me again.”

With that, Akihito fled the bakery. He made it four blocks, bumping into people left and right, before he dipped into a random clothing store and dodged sales assistants to hide behind a crowded rack and catch his breath. The threat would probably work on Yama-san, he was too cowardly to try to pursue Akihito when his job was on the line and he needed the money, but the conversation left a horrible taste in his mouth. It was uncomfortably reminiscent of what his parents had said to him just yesterday, about how Akihito was good and Asami was bad, how if Akihito knew what was right for him, he’d run and never look back. Like they knew better than he did. 

The truth was, Akihito hadn’t fully considered the implications of going public with Asami. He hadn’t known that it would mean confronting his and Asami’s different places in the world, over and over again, and burning bridges when those two places couldn’t be reconciled. He could condemn his relationship to Yama-san because of his corruption, but Akihito didn’t know what he would have done if he’d been forced to choose between his parents and his Imprint. 

Just being Imprinted was enough to prompt people to treat you differently. His coworkers, his friends, even people he met in passing would look at him in a different light after finding out he was Imprinted. He’d seen it all the time growing up, complete strangers stopping his parents in grocery stores and at the park to ask them about their Imprint rings. 

Akihito ran his thumb anxiously over his own ring. Should he even be wearing it in public? He’d been so desperate to try and have some semblance of a normal relationship with Asami he’d jumped without looking again. 

Something rustled the clothing rack that Akihito was hidden behind, and Akihito let out an embarrassing yelp when a face suddenly appeared between two coats. He let out a sigh of relief after recognizing it as belonging to one of the guards Asami had assigned to tail him. Since returning from Hong Kong, a small, only somewhat-discrete army of guards followed his every move. 

“Asami-sama would like to see you at Sion,” the guard said. 

Great. The guards had probably tattled about his impromptu meeting with Yama-san. Akihito reluctantly stood up from behind the rack and followed the guard outside to a waiting car, his mind still too conflicted to want to face his Imprint. 

* * *

Surrounded by stacks of overdue paperwork, Asami remembered why he’d never taken a vacation before in the long history of running his own business. Even with working part of the time while in Bali, the forms had piled up in his absence. He’d long resigned himself to the administrative tedium of his job, but every time Kirishima walked in with another form to sign he couldn’t help but wish for some enemies to threaten. 

When he heard the door open, Asami didn’t even take his eyes off his desk. “Just stack it in the pile, Kirishima, I’ll get to it later.”

“Um.”

Asami looked up to see Akihito standing in front of him.  


“Kirishima let me in,” Akihito said awkwardly. “I can’t believe you had your guards ferry me here. Is this another attempt at getting me to role play secretarial sex in your office?” 

Right away, Asami could tell something had happened. Instead of spitting and fighting about Asami dragging him into the office, Akihito sounded hesitant and tired. 

“The guards told me you had a run in with Detective Yamazaki that upset you.” 

“It was nothing,” Akihito said too fast.  


Akihito was a terrible liar, to the point where it almost became endearing. 

“Tell me the truth, Akihito, do I need to take care of him?” 

“No, Jesus, Asami! He’s not a problem, okay? I already handled it myself,” Akihito said. 

“Handled what?”

Akihito toed the rug and looked longingly at the door, like there was any chance Asami would let him make a run for it out of the club. 

“He wanted me to rat you out. He found out about our relationship and thought he could get dirt on you through me,” Akihito finally confessed. 

Yamazaki was dumber than Asami thought. At this point in his career, half the top brass was on Asami’s payroll. Even if the detective could compile compelling evidence, it would never see the light of day. 

“He’s not going to pursue it. I told him to drop it, otherwise I’d ruin his career.” 

“Finally found out he’s corrupt?” 

Akihito gaped at him. “You - of course you knew that. Yes, I realized a few weeks ago, and I know Yama’s not going to do anything right now that could jeopardize his job. His daughter’s sick and he needs the money, that’s why he started taking bribes from gangs to begin with.” 

Akihito must have become too good at reading Asami’s face because he quickly followed up with, “And you’re not allowed to go behind my back to threaten or kill him, okay? I won’t forgive you if you do.” 

“Demanding,” Asami said, rising from his desk to pull Akihito with him to the leather couch in the corner of his office. He'd put men on the detective anyway. If he tried anything or approached Akihito again, he couldn't guarantee he'd keep his word.  


“You’re still troubled,” Asami said. Akihito had been fiddling with his Imprint ring the whole time, turning it back and forth on his finger until the skin underneath was rubbed red. 

“It’s dumb - I just feel like no one trusts me to make my own decisions. First my parents, then Yama-san, everyone keeps acting like our relationship is something I was roped into. Like I’m some dumb kid and don’t have the agency to choose who I want to be with.”

“I’m not sure you did get a choice in the beginning,” Asami said. 

Akihito rolled his eyes, making a tightness come loose inside Asami’s chest. “Our first time was fucked up, and I glad you know that, but don’t think you were forcing me into something all those times after. I could have left the city if I really wanted to. Hell, I didn’t even bother moving after you started stopping by my apartment. I kind of liked seeing you, even though I felt like I shouldn’t have. If you feel guilty about it now, you can atone by being less of a controlling bastard now. No more crap like moving me into your penthouse without asking and or taking me on surprise vacations.”

“You liked both of those, in the end.”

“That’s not the point! Being in a real relationship means listening to what I actually say I want, not just what you think it best for me.”

“I will try,” Asami said. It was the most he could offer, knowing that some part of him would always want to keep Akihito under lock and key. “You know it is not in my nature to give up control.” 

“I know,” Akihito said. “And then - I guess I just didn’t really think about what telling people about our Imprint would mean. That people are going to see me differently for it. I still haven’t even told Kou and Takato.”

“You don’t owe people anything,” Asami said. “You are in control of who you tell, if anyone at all. Our Imprint ceremony could just be the two of us and your parents if that’s what makes you happy.”

“I don’t want to hide our relationship though! I want to be able to wear my Imprint ring proudly. I just wish people didn’t make such a big deal out of the bond. I don’t want people to treat me any differently.” 

Asami knew it was difficult for Akihito. His parents still loved him dearly, but they would never see their son in the same light, knowing what he had gone through and who he was Imprinted on. Now, only a day later, and their bond had driven another person out of Akihito’s life. 

“If I had the choice, I would keep you for only me. I would keep the rest of the world from having you,” Asami said. 

Akihito actually smiled at that. “I know you would, you controlling freak. Sometimes I wish it was just the two of us too.” 

Akihito finally stopped twisting his ring on his finger. “I don’t regret it. I was so happy when you asked me if I wanted to have a ceremony and showed me the rings. I wasn’t lying when I told my mom I was willing to fight whatever hardships I need to.” 

“If I do my job, you won’t have to,” Asami said. 

“You can’t protect me from the world, no matter how hard you try. I want to stand by your side as your equal and fight these battles on my own.” 

Akihito leaned in to softly kiss Asami. Their tender confessionals coming to an end, Asami licked into Akihito's mouth and moved to pin him against one arm of the sofa. 

“Now what did you say about secretarial roleplay?”

* * *

Akihito reluctantly allowed Asami to drive him to work. He still didn’t have the faintest idea where his Vespa was, and every time he brought it up the man managed to divert to another topic or load him into another one of his town cars. Half the time Akihito had taken to walking around the city and taking public transit just to spite Asami and irritate his guards, who were forced to tail him through busy sidewalks and crowded buses. 

Today he conceded to a ride in Asami’s limo so he could catch up with his emails on the way. Asami was a distracting presence by his side, but he was deep in a conversation on his phone, leaving Akihito to skim through the mess in his inbox. 

There was an email from a Headline editor, ten spam emails, a few messages from his friends after they couldn’t get through to him by text, and, most shockingly, an email from Fei Long. 

Akihito hadn’t actually expected Fei Long to contact him. Sure, he’d written his info in the card, but Asami’s bets were 50/50 on whether the card would be tossed into a fire before ever making it out of the envelope. 

Akihito forced himself to click on the work email first. Already two-weeks old, the message simply asked whether Akihito had any new shots they could use for an upcoming spread. Trying to re-establish his working reputation after dropping off the grid for a month and losing his main police contact was a headache waiting for him. He could already hear Asami’s mocking offers to support him as a house-wife, which was quickly becoming half-true since Asami wouldn’t let him pay rent on the penthouse (not that Akihito could afford it). 

Eyeing Asami, who was still all-business on the phone and not paying Akihito even a glance, Akihito clicked on Fei Long’s email before he could change his mind. Its contents were fairly short, although he could almost hear Fei Long’s lofty, lyrical voice float through the screen. He was trying to balance mediating existing tensions between the Baishe and Bratva while also planning an Imprint ceremony that would satisfy both parties. All the while, the constant new sensation of feeling Mikhail’s emotions through their bond was driving him insane. He ended the email asking if Akihito had the same experience with his bond, and more importantly, did he know how to manage it? 

Akihito was faintly pleased that Fei Long had actually reached out to him, but mostly he was concerned that Fei Long considered Akihito to be anything resembling a reputable source for advice on Imprinting, considering he’d managed to overlook his own bond for a decade. 

He penned a quick response, noting that his bond didn’t work the same way (probably for the best, feeling someone else’s emotions sounded exhausting), and that he also highly doubted the gods or nature had equipped Imprint bonds with something as mundane as an off-switch. Writing to Fei Long so casually felt odd, but it also helped Akihito remove himself one step further from the trauma of Hong Kong. Over time, Akihito could see them becoming good friends. 

Akihito had just hit ‘send’ when he felt Asami’s eyes on him and realized Asami’s phone call had ended. He tensed, knowing Asami’s horrible propensity for limo sex and acutely aware that he couldn’t show up at the Headline office asking for work looking disheveled. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Akihito warned, leaning away from Asami in self-preservation. 

“Think about what?” Asami asked, guiltless. “I was merely going to ask how Fei Long is doing.”

Akihito stiffened even more. “Are you spying on my emails?” he asked. 

“Please,” Asami scoffed. “I don’t need to hack your phone to be able to see Fei Long’s name on your screen from where I’m sitting.” 

That didn’t actually answer Akihito’s question, but he decided not to start a fight when they were almost to his destination. “Fei Long is fine,” he said, looking at Asami in suspicion. “You’re not weirded out that I’m emailing with him, are you?” 

“I won’t stop you. If anything, you two being on good terms means he and Arbatov could become future allies.” 

“Always so pragmatic,” Akihito snarked. “Not everything is business, you know.”

Asami’s eyes darkened, but Akihito was saved by the driver pulling up to the Headline building. Before Asami could start defiling him, he swung his camera bag over his shoulder and jumped out the door, the car still rolling to a stop. 

“Well, gotta go, see ya!” Akihito exclaimed as he made his escape. He had one foot on the sidewalk when he felt a tug on his shirt and turned around to have Asami’s lips meet his own. Akihito couldn’t help but moan, torn between pulling away and jumping back into the car to tear Asami’s clothes off. When Asami finally released his grip and leaned back with a smirk, Akihito knew the indecision had shown on his face. 

“See you tonight,” Asami said, pulling the door closed. The bastard couldn’t resist getting the last word. Akihito watched the limo drive away, still trying to regain his composure, when he heard his name called out from the distance. 

Wincing, Akihito turned and braced himself to confront Yama-san again. Instead, he found Mitari yelling at him from the front of the Headline building. 

“Takaba! Where’d you disappear to? Did you decide nepotism wasn’t enough and find a sugar daddy to take care of you instead of working?” Mitari sneered. 

Akihito ignored him as he walked into the building lobby but couldn’t stop the man from following him into the elevator. Mitari had been picking petty fights with him ever since Akihito started freelancing for Headline. In his mind they were bitter rivals, but Akihito mostly considered him nothing more than an occasional nuisance. 

“So what happened to you? I saw you get out that limo, you letting some older businessman feel you up for an allowance?” Mitari asked. 

Akihito stabbed the button for the eighth floor and tried to keep a cool face. “Would I be coming back here if some rich guy were financing me?” 

Mitari shrugged. “Maybe you’re keeping your options open. Didn’t think you were the type to put your ass out there, but you never know these days. Unless...are you working on a case? Is that where you’ve been?” 

Akihito smirked just because he knew it would piss Mitari off. “Like I would tell you if I was on a case.” 

The elevator dinged and Akihito walked out as Mitari called out after him. 

“Hey, if you’ve got a big scoop, a second camera man is always handy!”

Akihito didn’t answer in favor of knocking on the chief editor’s door and shutting it in Mitari’s face with pleasure. 

* * *

Come dinner, Akihito thought he’d finally caught a break. It had been an exhausting day, first convincing the head editor to give him work despite his unexplained absence and then chasing leads around town all day to no avail. If he didn’t get good shots soon, Mitari might as well be right with his jab about Asami being his sugar daddy. Soon he wouldn't even have enough left in his bank account to buy groceries on his own.  


For now, though, Akihito was content to put his work troubles behind him. Asami had ordered delivery from Akihito’s favorite sushi restaurant and Akihito was ready to eat and drink away his worries, cold beer and chopsticks already in hand. He had a piece of sashimi hovering over soy sauce when Asami’s phone rang. 

Akihito scowled as Asami stood up from the dining table to answer it, merely gesturing for Akihito to start eating without him. Akihito didn’t wait for any more permission to begin stuffing rolls into his mouth. If the food was all gone by the time Asami finished his call, it was his own fault for never turning his damn phone off. 

He methodically continued demolishing the spread of food, picking up bits and pieces of Asami’s conversation in between bites. 

“--Detain him and find out who sent him before you get rid of him.”

Asami returned to the table, merely raising one eye at their plate already being half-empty. 

“Don’t look at me like that! It’s your own fault for never being able to put work down,” Akihito said, unashamedly continuing to work his way down another roll of sushi. 

“This wasn’t quite work. We’ll need to put more guards on you tomorrow, they just picked up a photographer hiding out front with photos of us on their camera. Until we track down who he works for and take them out you’re going to let your guards protect you and not shake them off, understand?”

Akihito was ready to argue against needing more babysitters tracking his every move when his brain caught up with Asami’s words and he choked on his food. 

Hacking and coughing, Akihito gestured towards Asami’s phone. 

“What did the photographer look like? Did they give a description?” Akihito asked. 

“Why?” Asami asked, eyeing Akihito with suspicion. 

“Listen, call them back, ask them if it was a guy with brown hair parted down the middle and a horrible goatee, probably wearing an ugly vest or something,” Akihito said. 

“Oddly specific,” Asami commented, but obliging dialed the phone anyway. 

After a moment, he hung up and turned back to Akihito. 

“How did you know what he looked like?” Asami asked. 

“Because I work with the idiot! Tell your guards not to hurt him, he’s annoying but harmless.” Mitari must have actually thought he was working a big case and tailed him in his desperation to steal a scoop from under Akihito. 

Akihito already had his shoes laced, ready to jump out the door, when Asami blocked his path. 

“Let my men take care of it, Akihito. You don’t know that he isn’t gathering intelligence for a third party.”

“He saw me get out of your limo this morning and thinks I’m working a big case that I won’t let him in on, that’s why he tailed me back here! He’s not evil, he’s just an asshole who’s always trying to show me up.”

Akihito shouldered past Asami, knowing the man let him get by and would follow him outside anyway. Running down the stairs and through the lobby, he found two of Asami’s guards holding Mitari by each arm behind some bushes while he struggled feebly against their grip. 

“--Give me my camera back, there’ll be hell to pay if you break it!” Mitari shouted. 

“Let him go,” Akihito said. 

Mitari’s eyes widened upon seeing him. “Akihito, thank god, I don’t know what you’re into but I swear--” 

His voice choked up with fear, likely at the intimidating sight of Asami coming up behind Akihito. The guards wavered, unsure of whether to obey Akihito or wait for Asami’s orders. 

Akihito bristled when the guards stood still, clearly waiting for Asami’s go-ahead. He didn’t want to do this in front of Mitari, but he didn’t have another choice at this point. Turning to Asami, he dropped his voice as low as he could so Mitari wouldn’t overhear. 

“Tell your men to let him go. I’ll talk to him and he won’t bother us again.”

Asami didn’t say anything, so he pressed on. “Remember that conversation we just had about you listening to me? Treating me like an equal? I know him, he’s not a threat, just a dumb coworker that doesn’t know when to quit.” 

Finally, Asami nodded and the guards released Mitari’s arms. “What about my camera?” Mitari asked, obnoxious as ever, and Akihito quickly pulled him away before Asami changed his mind and Mitari got himself killed. 

“Akihito, what the hell kind of case have you gotten yourself involved in?” Mitari asked. 

“Mitari, listen to me very carefully - you’ve got to let this go.” 

“Let this go? I know you’re onto something big. This dude’s supposed to be a businessman, what kind of normal businessman has guards like that!” Mitari exclaimed. 

Akihito realized Mitari, like himself, was an investigator to his bones. He would never drop the issue without getting answers. 

He stuck his hand in front of Mitari’s face, making sure his eyes caught the glint of his ring. 

“I’m Imprinted on him, okay? That’s why you saw me get out of his limo this morning, and that’s why I’m at his apartment. There’s no case.  _ There’s no case _ . So stop stalking me like a creep, otherwise I’m calling the cops.” 

Mitari’s jaw dropped. “You? Imprinted? Jesus, Takaba, why isn’t this in the news yet?” Akihito could see his eyes start to get the manic look of a man on the edge of a big story. 

“We’re keeping it quiet for now, and it’s going to stay that way, otherwise I won’t stop the guards from taking you away.” 

At that, Mitari’s brain seemed to finally catch up to the gravity of the situation he was just in. His eyes darted nervously towards where Asami and his guards were still standing. The reason Akihito usually got the good assignments, despite Mitari's accusations of nepotism, was no one else was willing to endure the same levels of danger and risk. Mitari was eager for a scoop, but not enough so that he'd risk his own life.  


“What were they going to do to me?” Mitari asked. 

Akihito didn’t answer. “Go home, Mitari. I’ll see you at work, okay?” He waited for Mitari to give a nod and walk away, silently relieved. He wasn’t used to threatening people like this - first Yama-san, now Mitari. But the alternative meant letting Asami “handle” things, and he didn’t want blood on his hands through his own inaction. 

“Let’s go back inside,” Asami murmured, appearing by his side and gently pushing him back towards the entrance. 

“You actually listened to me,” Akihito said. 

“Surprised?” 

“Maybe a little.”

Akihito leaned in to peck a kiss on Asami’s mouth, ignoring the guards still standing next to them. The look on Asami’s face reminded him that this was all worth it. The emotional rollercoaster of the past few days faded away as Asami’s eyes warmed, crinkling in the corners the way they only seemed to around Akihito.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Brief mention of domestic violence, references to violent events from previous chapters (gun violence, rape) 
> 
> Comments are always appreciated!


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